


Cinders

by MaidenMotherCrone



Series: The Fairest Saga [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragons, F/M, Game of Thrones-esque, Harry is Daenerys Targaryen, Lions, M/M, Snakes, oh my
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-12-16 23:56:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 177,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11839701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaidenMotherCrone/pseuds/MaidenMotherCrone
Summary: "Kill the boy, Harry Potter, and let the man live."In a world called Albion, there are two Kings; one fairest and one cruelest. This is their war.Born of ashes, King Harry Wildfyre of Houses Potter and Gryffindor fights a war that he never wanted but has inherited all the time. As the Fairest of Them All and allied with the Dark Lord Voldemort, power fills every vein and he will use it all to take the throne that Draco Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy have stolen from him. Even if it means burning the world to the ground.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm back. Here's the next installment of Fairest. It's called Cinder. After Hermione Granger, who is the Cinderella of this world. Her role will be much larger from here on out, though Harry is and always will be the main character. Well, here we GO.

He moved with purpose now.

That was new.

Every step was careful and measured. Every breath geared towards his survival. He was a man of war now.

“What...is that on his shoulder?” Ron whispered, leaning forward.

Harry’s eyes burned with something violent and he was hissing, softly at the scaled beast that sat coiled on his shoulder. The Dark Lord stood at his side, his expression still, leading his horse behind them. Harry seemed to be staring far away. Tonks couldn’t look away from the beast lounging over his shoulder.

A _dragon_.

“Boy, where did you disappear off to? Still a child that you can’t wait for a simple debrief before you go off to sulk for a night and half a day,” Moody snarled with derision.

Tonks watched as the older wizard faltered after he heard the dragonet shriek, its little wings stretching, slim neck darting out with aggression. Harry cooed softly at the monstrous creature and immediately, it settled, sliding over his shoulder, its long tail thrown around Harry's neck. Tonks shivered as those poisonous yellow eyes settled on her. She glanced to the Dark Lord. His crimson eyes glinted with amusement.

“Kill the boy, Harry Potter, and let the man live,” Harry murmured to himself. He mouthed the words, tasting them on his tongue. They echoed, prophetic in some way that Tonks couldn’t quite comprehend.

It felt like a prayer, something holy. But, also, so very damning. Harry looked to the Dark Lord once. The Dark Lord looked back at him and nodded. Tonks rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet, electric with nervous energy.

Something was happening.

The winds were different and, it no longer rained. No, instead the sun seemed to burn brighter than ever before. The mud from the morning had hardened, baked into brick by the heat of the day. Harry spun to face everyone and he drew his wand, a small smile spreading across his face.

“I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions and Protector of the Realm,” he declared. Tonks shivered at the fire in his voice. “And you will _all_ bend the knee.”

There was a long beat of silence. They stared. There wasn’t anything else they could do but stare. Harry watched each and every one of them with fire in his eyes. The dragonet on his shoulder shrieked as if in agreement with its master. Tonks looked around, wondering who would go first. Everyone was too frozen in shock. Tonks took a step forward and before she could sink to her knee, Voldemort swept his wand in front of his chest and fell to one knee.

Harry’s lips parted and he nodded.

Tonks hid her smirk behind her hand as she followed her uncle’s lead. The two Slytherins, the first to bow to the Prince of Gryffindor. The irony was not lost on her.

Tonks looked up and watched as the civilians fell to their knees, laying prostrate before Harry’s prone form. The dragonet shrieked upon his shoulder again and Tonks looked back at Remus. Remus was staring, wide-eyed, Teddy clutched tight to his chest. She caught his gaze and nodded. Remus slowly sunk to one knee, tucking Teddy closer to his side.

It was like a sudden wave. The Weasleys drew their wands in salute, bowing. Even Marlene McKinnon, Emmeline Vance, and Kingsley bent the knee before their King. Tonks felt giddy, pride rushing through her belly, thrumming in her veins. Even Cardaroc, a mess of creaky old bones, stooped as low as he could in his old age.

It was only Moody, Fendwick, and McGonagall standing.

“You want me to bow to you, boy?” Moody hissed, dangerously.

Harry’s lips quirked into a smile. “I am your King. You will bend the knee as the rest have done before you. Bend the knee, Alastor Moody.”

Moody’s gnarled face curled into a sneer. Tonks grit her teeth and looked down to the dirt ground. Fendwick stooped down, falling to a knee. McGonagall swept into a low curtsey, her skirts billowing out around her as she crossed her wand and saluted. Harry smiled, benevolent and oh so beautiful.

Tonks’ breath froze in her lungs. She waited. Everyone waited, with baited breath.

And slowly, Moody sunk to his knees.

* * *

  **MIRROR**

* * *

   


Hermione walked, her hands clasped before her, eyes trained on the ground. She looked up with darting brown eyes, carefully keeping her gaze on Narcissa’s back as the woman walked, side by side with her sister. Andromeda was striking in chainmail, hard, where her sister looked soft in dark navy velvets and silks. But, Hermione knew better. She knew that _both_ sisters were formidable.

“How far, Lord Dolohov?” Narcissa murmured to man on her left.

“They should be arriving soon, my Lady,” Dolohov insisted, his voice soft as they moved forward, their eyes trained on the gates to the Forbidden Forest.

"How could this happen? The Order...how could they have known that Draco was there?" Narcissa whispered to the air. Andromeda shifted, her chain mail clinking but, she didn't offer an answer.

Hermione had one—Draco was vain and a show-off. It would not be uncharacteristic for him to issue something that the Order would consider a challenge.

Hermione could hear the sounds of hooves hitting the ground. A thundering of them. Slowly, she straightened, rolling her shoulders back and cracking her neck. Her wand felt uncomfortable up her sleeve, and her eyes narrowed as she slowly let the tip peek out. A hand clamped on her wrist and Hermione adjusted herself, sliding her wand up her sleeve again. She looked down at Luna.

“My Lady,” Luna said, softly, her eyes trained on the gates as they creaked open.

Hermione hummed and watched with wide eyes as they rode forward.

Narcissa let out a gasp. “Draco,” she rasped in horror.

The King of Albion was covered in ash, his hair colored gray and his cheeks black. He looked haggard as if he had ridden after the battle and hadn't stopped. Her stepbrother didn't look in much better shape, his arm wrapped in a blood sling. The rest of the Aurors were in disarray, broken and burnt and covered in ashes. Far more had ridden out. Too few had returned.

Draco slipped from his horse and walked slowly towards the castle, his eyes narrowed in pain. Narcissa rushed to him, paying no mind to the blood crusted under Draco’s nose or the bruises on his pointy chin. She kissed him on both cheeks, roughly, before pulling him tight to her. His hands dangled at his side.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. “Nephew, what has happened? How many men have you lost?” she asked.

“Too many,” Draco said, his voice rough from smoke inhalation. “Little Hangleton is in ashes. Muggle Aurors lost. Wizarding Aurors lost. Gregory Goyle is dead.”

Hermione frowned, looking between her stepbrother and her betrothed. They looked defeated, quivering with exhaustion. She was used to seeing them wreak havoc, terrorizing the people that came before them.

“Where is his body, your Grace? We must give it to his father,” Lord Dolohov said, softly.

“Don’t you think I know that,” Draco snarled, pulling away from his mother, his teeth bared. Even his mouth was crusted with dried blood. Dolohov nodded, attempting to keep the peace. “It is in the last wagon. Many wizarding bodies are, though some were reduced to ash. I know the burial rites. Greg is...he’s nearly in two pieces.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. He was grieving. Draco Malfoy was _grieving_.

“Someone severed him in half? How?” Andromeda barked. “How did this happen?”

Draco blinked at his aunt as if seeing her for the first time. "He was so beautiful, Aunt. The most beautiful person I'd ever seen. And he called fire as easy as he breathed air. I didn't...it was...Mother, I'm tired," he said, his voice cracking and Narcissa looked up at him, wounded, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.

“I know, my love. I know,” Narcissa whispered. “Lord Dolohov, if you’d please handle the Aurors while I see the King to his chambers. He has fought a long battle and lost many men. Andromeda, take the girl with you. Show her how we mourn the dead. When she is queen, she will need to know.”

Andromeda hadn’t taken her curiously dark gaze from the King’s face. “What did he call himself, Draco?” she asked, foregoing any sort of propriety.

“Dromeda,” Narcissa hissed, warningly.

“No, we must know,” Andromeda snarled. “The King took some of the best men and they return beaten and bloodied, with the heir of a _House_ dead. We must know.”

“You mustn’t know anything. You aren’t part of the Council,” Narcissa snapped as she ushered Draco to Hogwarts Castle.

Luna and Hermione dutifully fell into low curtseys as the King and his mother passed them but, Draco barely paid Hermione any mind.

“I am the Warden of the West. I want to know if I have to worry about my _people_ ,” Andromeda retorted angrily. “I know Little Hangleton is in the North but, I must know.”

Narcissa spun around, ready to spit harsher words but, Draco turned, his gaze trained steadily on Andromeda. Hermione had never seen him grim. She had seen him smug and angry and disgusted but, never grim. He looked nearly like a man and that frightened Hermione more than anything. A boy-king she could learn to manipulate, to control, as his mother did. A man was a dangerous opponent to a woman, indeed.

Quietly, the King said, “He called him Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter. He called himself the Fairest of Them All.”

Hermione froze.

The _Fairest_.

She watched the King walk inside, accompanied by his mother. Andromeda cleared her throat and grabbed Hermione by her arm, whipping her around.

“Come, girl. There is work to be done,” Andromeda commanded.

Hermione jerked out of Andromeda's grasp but pulled her cloak tighter around herself and moved forward. It wasn't exactly cold though she could hear the wind whistling against the wards. She could see the gray skies beyond their bubble of summer.

Winter was coming.

“What kind of work?” Hermione asked.

“I will show you how we bury our dead here,” Andromeda said, her voice cold. She walked up to the wagon and looked farther out. Another wagon. She looked at the Aurors and cleared her throat. “You are dismissed. Lord Dolohov, you should see your men into barracks. They deserve their rest.”

Lord Dolohov looked at her, sourly. “As you wish, Lady Warden,” he drawled, and he ushered his men away, leaving the two women to inspect the wagons of the dead.

Hermione gagged at the smell of burnt flesh and she looked at the bubbling flesh, the bodies that looked nearly petrified. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to be able to tell each face from another when they were all stretched into shades of agony.

“How could this be done?” Hermione whispered.

Andromeda looked at the bodies, stoically. She pulled out her wand and waved it over the bodies, murmuring softly. “It wasn’t Fiendfyre. That leaves traces of Dark magic. This was something else. Light.”

“How could this be Light magic? Bodies were turned into ash,” Hermione said, earnestly. “They set these men on fire. They _burned_ them. Executed them.”

"And so goes war, Lady Granger," Andromeda said. She looked at the bodies, stopping when came across one man in particular, his middle caked with long dried blood. His black curls looked limp and dry yet stuck to his forehead with sweat. He was stiff.

“Gregory Goyle?” Hermione whispered.

“Yes. War makes monsters of us all,” Andromeda said, her voice soft.

Hermione looked at the woman, wide-eyed. “Do you...has the Dark Lord spoken to you about his plan? What will he do about Draco?” she whispered.

Andromeda laughed. “Why do you ask me? If he hasn’t told you, you aren’t meant to know.”

“He gave me back his wand. He said that he would not have Draco on the throne,” Hermione snapped, irritated.

“Tell me, Lady Granger, what do you want out of this war?” Andromeda asked.

“I want to go home,” she said, immediately. “I want to live.”

“Then, Lady Granger, you mustn’t shy from war,” Andromeda said, softly. “Embrace it.”

* * *

  **MIRROR**

* * *

   


They stumbled into his room, breathing hard and wild like they had run a race. Voldemort drifted after the pair, rolling his eyes at their antics.

“I can’t believe I just did that,” Harry breathed, his eyes wild, cradling the unnamed dragonet in his hands. Tonks leaned back against the door, grinning madly.

“I can’t _believe_ you just did that!” she hissed.

There was a long beat of silence before they both shrieked, shouting over each other, jumping up and down. The Dark Lord between the two with a raised eyebrow and triumph gleaming in his crimson eyes. The dragonet shrieked between them and Tonks immediately fell back, Harry turned his green eyes to the creature.

“A dragon, Harry. You come back with a dragon and demand that they all bend the knee,” Tonks said, shaking her head in awe. Harry slowly crossed to his bed, sitting on the edge, the dragonet slipping from his shoulder and tumbling into his lap. “How did this even happen? Where did you even _find_ a dragon egg?”

“That would be my doing,” Voldemort drawled, crossing towards Harry. He kneeled, keeping his eyes trained on the creature, though he wasn’t unaware of the slight flush that spread high across Harry’s cheeks.

The Dark Lord examined the dragonet. It was lizard-like, with poisonous yellows eyes, as bright as his Nagini's. Its eyes were shaped like a cat and bronze nubs protrude from its head and smaller nubs, going down its back and tail. They would one day be spikes but they were no better than bumps at the moment.

“What kind of dragon is it?” Tonks whispered.

“A Horntail,” Voldemort said, decidedly. Cement-colored eggs, hard as stone. Definitely a Horntail. “And a girl at that.”

“What will you name her?” Tonks asked, excitedly.

Harry had not taken his eyes off the softly screeching dragonet, stroking her softly. The dragonet looked up at him and made a quiet purring noise of content. Harry’s lips spread into a wide smile.

“Her name is Freia.”

Voldemort nodded. “It is said that Horntails were the most vicious and aggressive breeds of dragon. You will have to tame her now. She is already taken by you. She will grow large and fast,” Voldemort warned as he watched the young man. Harry’s entire attention remained on the dragonet, Freia, that shrieked and squealed in his lap, hungry for all of the Prince’s attention. “If you’re done playing with the fire-breathing beast, there’s work to be done.”

Both Tonks and Harry looked up, irritated.

“She’s not a beast,” Harry snapped.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “There’s a reason the Founders destroyed them all and sent them into extinction.”

“Well, you won’t touch her,” Harry hissed, threateningly and Voldemort raised his hands, surrendering with another dramatic roll of his eyes. “Freia is mine.”

“How did ‘Freia’ come into your possession again?” Tonks asked in wonder.

“A girl… there’s a servant girl at Hogwarts. I greatly respected her mother and she asked me to honor her mother by putting the stone in the mausoleum. It was only a stone then. It wasn’t hot. I had no idea that it could be a petrified dragon egg. And yet…” Voldemort trailed off, turning away, his eyes narrowed.

He should’ve known. Pandora had been closely affiliated with fire. And the Luna girl always knew things that she shouldn’t. She was a crafty witch, so very much like her mother.

“She knew,” Harry said with such certainty that the two Slytherins looked to him. His green eyes had not left Freia and he smiled as she gnawed at his finger.

“No more frivolous conversation about the dangerous beast that has imprinted on you,” Voldemort snapped. Harry glared at the Dark Lord but waited for him to finish. So, he recognized that Voldemort’s words were true. “There is work to be done.”

“Oh, am I included in this work now?” Tonks retorted.

“You’re as much of a threat to Moody and his faction as much as I am,” Voldemort spat.

Tonks reared back. “I’m an _Order member_ —”

“You’re a Slytherin,” Voldemort snarled. Tonks fell silent, eyes wide. Harry reached for hand, squeezing, though he didn’t look away from the Dark Lord, waiting patiently for him to finish. “They don’t trust you. They know you’re powerful. I can tell that much. But, they don’t _trust_ you. You encourage the Prince to be outspoken. You were the first to bend the knee, for Merlin’s sake. _You_ are a _threat_. And so, you _must_ work with us.”

Harry turned to look at Tonks, his eyes eager. “Please, Tonks. I couldn’t do this without you. You’ll be my advisor. You must,” Harry insisted.

Tonks bit her lower lip, nervously.

“Harry,” she began, “you want me to go up against the Madame? She practically saved me. You want me to betray her?”

“I’m your King,” Harry said, softly. “You bent the knee to me. You believe in me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Tonks said, immediately. “I imagine a lot of them believe in you. Especially after last night.”

Harry nodded then. “Then, you will work with us, right? You’ll be loyal to me and me alone, right?”

Tonks swallowed. She looked into her Uncle’s crimson eyes but, Voldemort stared at her, with all the expectation in the world. She looked back into Harry’s eyes and swallowed any doubt.

“Yes. Loyal to you and you alone.”

“Good,” Voldemort said. “Then, we plan.”

* * *

  **ON**

* * *

   


He strode from the stables fast, barely putting his stallion up. He could sense the buildup of magic. Something was happening. Something had happened without his presence. Voldemort

“Andromeda—” Voldemort began.

Andromeda jerked away from her brother, giving him a warning look.

“You’ve been gone too long, brother. The Houses are here. Surely you saw their carriages,” Andromeda said. Voldemort shook his head, looking around the court, only slightly alarmed.

Everyone wore their best, primped and groomed to the utmost. Narcissa, Draco, and his betrothed hadn't arrived just yet. That was all well and good. Voldemort didn't want Narcissa dissecting his conversations with their sister.

“I came from Karnaron. They must have arrived by way of the East. Who has she summoned?” Voldemort asked. He looked at the group. Lord Goyle leaned against the wall, draped in black, his own wife sobbing softly into black linen. “Is Heir Goyle dead?”

“Yes. You may thank your Fairest for that,” Andromeda said, her voice low and cold.

Voldemort hummed. “You didn’t answer my other question.”

“The great Houses Crouch, Parkinson...and Longbottom,” Andromeda said.

Voldemort let the name sit between them as the doors swung open and Narcissa emerged, bathed in navy. The court bowed to her and she smiled, their adoration giving them strength. She approached Voldemort and leaned in, brushing her lips against his cheek. Voldemort returned the gesture though his stomach turned with fury.

He took a step back and watched as Draco emerged and everyone fell before him murmuring ‘your Grace, your Grace’. Voldemort watched him carefully. The boy-king had a grimness to his eyes that he hadn’t possessed before. His first battle had been just as unkind to him as it had been to Harry.

The Lady Granger trailed behind him in robes of silver. She was still thin as a dementor but, she no longer had bruises on her jaw or her neck. She walked with a newfound confidence. Having her wand on hand had done her some good then. A quivering little girl would not be helpful in his future plans. Pandora’s girl, Luna, followed after her, her gaze wandering to Rodolphus.

Voldemort looked away. He would allow Rodolphus his privacy in that particular matter.

Hermione caught Voldemort’s gaze and nodded to him. He nodded back at her and Hermione turned away, settling at the bottom of the dais, waiting patiently and separate for the Houses to arrive. She lifted her chin, no longer afraid in the face of the court. She had her wand. She could protect herself in anyone dared lay a finger on her again.

She saw Blaise who stared at her with a smirk. His smirk faltered when she didn’t flinch, and her own lips twitched into a cool smile.

She looked discreetly at the Lord Voldemort again. He was whispering quietly to his sister but, Andromeda only had eyes for the House that entered first.

“Presenting Lord Webber of House Parkinson, and his lovely daughter, the Lady Pansy of Parkinson.”

Hermione watched as an older man and a young woman in bronze robes paraded through the doors. The older man was unassuming in the way all old men were unassuming. He was wise-looking but, ultimately, bathed in wealth and simmered in false power. Hermione looked at Pansy. She wasn’t a pretty woman but, she was attractive. Her nose was upturned, dark hair waved around her face, and she was smug-looking.

“Your Grace,” Pansy said, falling practically to her knees as they reached the dais. “It’s been so long, my dear, dear friend.”

Hermione stiffened, as she looked at Draco. Draco’s lips were pulled into a tight smile.

“Lady Pansy, my childhood friend, it was quite a shock to me, that your family didn’t swear immediate fealty to me,” Draco said in greeting.

Lord Webber flushed and cleared his throat. “Your Grace, we believed it best if we swore loyalty, to you, the great King-Emperor Draco, in person. We only want to continue our family’s long-term friendship.”

Draco watched him for a long while. Narcissa bent over to whisper into Draco’s ear. Draco nodded and waved her away, impatiently. Hermione had never seen him dismiss his mother so suddenly. Narcissa pulled back, her gaze cold.

“Thank you, my Lord, my Lady. Welcome to court,” Draco drawled.

Pansy stood, lifting her chin and she swept past Hermione, trodding heavily on her toes. Hermione swallowed her yelp of pain and frowned at Pansy. Pansy’s eyes narrowed on her, full of warning before she joined the court, immediately swept into a group of young women that hugged her and pressed kisses to her cheeks. Hermine flushed in humiliation.

“Presenting Lord Bartemius of House Crouch.”

A tall man with short gray hair emerged in pressed black robes. His hair was neatly parted, almost unnaturally straight with a narrow toothbrush mustache above his thin lips. In the strange lighting of the Great Hall, he took on a skull-like appearance. Hermione felt dread crawl up her spine.

“Your Grace,” Lord Crouch said, curtly.

“You have not sworn fealty either, my Lord,” Draco drawled. “Your son is here and hasn’t sworn fealty.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, searching for the man that would be Lord Crouch’s son. Her eyes widened when a man in black leather battle robes stepped forward. The robes were open, revealing a tunic that wasn’t laced up to his neck and thighs squeezed into tight leather trousers. He was a pale man with straw-colored hair and freckles, and he was so terribly handsome it made her ache.

“Your Grace, you know as well as I that may not swear fealty to any man but, the Dark Lord,” the son of Crouch said.

“Barty,” Lord Crouch barked.

“Your son is correct, my Lord. I apologize, your Grace, but Barty Crouch belongs to me through the bonds of blood and ink. You understand, don’t you?” Voldemort said, his voice terribly chilly. He practically dared Draco to speak against him in public.

Draco regarded his uncle for a long time before he turned to Lord Crouch. “Do _you_ , Lord Crouch, swear fealty to me?”

“Of course, your Grace,” Lord Crouch said curtly.

Barty continued to stare at Draco, his eyes narrowed. Hermione swallowed hard, missing the King’s next words, as she looked into Barty’s eyes. He stared at her as if he wasn’t sure what to make of her, suspicious or otherwise. He melted back into the court, disappearing from her view and Hermione took a deep breath, focusing on what was to come.

“Presenting Lord Neville of House Longbottom and his sister-ward, Lady Daphne Greengrass.”

Narcissa bent her head, whispering into Draco’s ear. Hermione watched as Draco straightened, scooting forward to sit on the edge of his seat. Hermione swallowed as she watched the pair walk into the Great Hall, and court broke into a million whispers.

The first thing Hermione noticed was that they were both tall and towheaded. Second, she noticed how young they were, nearly her age. Neville was nervous looking in yellow and navy. Daphne Greengrass looked perfectly at ease, her strange eyes taking in all of the Great Hall.

“Lord Neville Longbottom, you came quickly to our request. How kind,” Draco drawled, his voice terribly cruel. He leaned forward. “Where is your lady grandmother?”

“My King,” Daphne began, her voice soft but carrying through the Great Hall. It sounded like music. “Our lady grandmother is an old woman. She is quite tired from the journey. Please excuse her.”

“The King did not address--” Narcissa began sharply.

“Mother,” Draco said, shortly, silencing her. He leaned forward, watching the two with shrewder eyes than Hermione believed he had. “Lady Daphne has never been to court. She’s been in Arcadia since she became the late Lord Longbottom’s ward.”

“Yes, I do apologize, your Grace. You are very kind and fair,” Daphne said sweetly.

Neville lifted his chin and nodded. “Your Grace, we come here to swear fealty to you.”

“Your family has sworn fealty before and has broken it. How fair your mother and father?” Draco asked, sharply. Hermione knew it to be a cruel question. Both Daphne and Neville flinched at his words.

“Your Grace, I am not my parents,” Neville said, coolly. “We swear fealty to the true King-Emperor of Albion. We would not be here if we didn’t.”

“I suppose,” Draco said and his lips curled into a cold smile. “You may go back to your tents. We shall summon you when you earn your place at court.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Neville said and he offered his arm to Daphne. She took it gently and they walked away, with all the dignity and grace that Draco had ripped away from them.

Hermione swallowed. She knew. This was only the beginning.

* * *

  **THE WALL**

* * *

   


“Harry,” Tonks said, rushing into his room, Teddy cradled against her side.

Harry looked up from his books, his green eyes round and glassy behind his glasses. Freia reared her head and let out a trilling shriek, startled. Teddy let out a tiny cry, surprised but, he didn’t burst into tears as Tonks had feared. Tonks settled on the bed, holding Teddy close to her chest as Freia lumbered forward, butting her head against Teddy’s side. Teddy giggled, reaching small fat fingers towards the dragonet.

Harry yanked Freia back. “Not safe yet. Freia doesn’t understand children,” he said, apologetically.

Tonks nodded, her eyes frantic. “Doesn’t matter. Not why I’m here.”

“Then, why are you here?” Harry asked, carefully shutting his books. He pulled out his wand, pointing it at the door. “ _Muffliato_. _Repello Hominem._ ”

“Where did you learn those?” Tonks asked, mildly impressed.

Harry laughed. “Your Uncle teaches me. He knows many things.”

“Many things,” Tonks drawled with a smirk. Harry flushed and elbowed her in the side, jostling Freia. Freia shrieked again.

“Shut up, Freia. I barely moved you,” Harry laughed. He picked up the dragonet and set her on the ground. Freia was only a week old and she was at least ten times the size she had been when she was born. He had been feeding her raw meat what felt like constantly, and she was never satisfied. She really was like a child. “Your Uncle hasn’t been in my bed since the first night.”

“Oh, I know that’s not true,” Tonks drawled. “It’s okay if you sleep with him, Harry. I won’t tell.”

“I would never, Tonks,” Harry said, though he wasn’t sure if he was lying or not. “He killed your father.”

“And he’s loyal to you. He swore his life, Harry. _Voldemort_ , who is intent on staying alive _forever_ , swore his life to you. You’re attracted to him, I know,” Tonks began.

“Who isn’t? He’s a beautiful man,” Harry said with pursed lips, looking away and Tonks laughed.

“I’m not. He’s my Uncle,” Tonks said.

Harry snorted. “Well, yes. I just...I can’t, Tonks. I did it once. For my people. And it’s no longer required of me. It’s finished.”

Tonks looked at him for a long time, as if she could see through him and his words. Harry looked away, looking down at Freia as she explored his room, her tail lazing behind her as she crawled forward. Teddy crawled to the edge of the bed, reaching fat baby hands towards the dragon. Harry grabbed Teddy and set him in the middle of the bed again.

“I’m not here to discuss Uncle, for once,” Tonks said, rolling her eyes. “I overheard something.”

“Gossip?” Harry asked, flatly.

Tonks hummed. “No. Plotting. Against you. Moody is trying to form your council for you.”

“My Council?” Harry asked, softly.

“Yes. Every King or Queen has a council. Draco’s Council consists of the Lady of the Coin, his mother, the Commander of the Archers, the commander of the Calvary, the Lord of Whispers, the General of the Aurors, and the Chancellor. Lord Chancellor Voldemort,” Tonks said, her gaze quite heavy.

“The Chancellor? What’s his job?” Harry asked, softly.

“Voldemort can help you the most because the Chancellor is the presider of Justice. He knows the law better than anyone. He executes justice on behalf of the ruler. As Chancellor to Bellatrix, he ruled. As Chancellor to Draco, I think his power has lessened. Narcissa has Draco’s ear,” Tonks explained softly and she sighed, falling back on the bed. Harry fell next to her, lying on his side, running his fingers up and down Teddy’s chubby legs.

“And Moody...Moody thinks he can control me. If he’s on my Council?” Harry asked.

Tonks nodded. “But, he can’t. We now know what he’s planning. You have the power in this situation, Harry. You.”

Harry swallowed. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”

* * *

  **WHO**

* * *

   


Gabrielle’s head was bent over the shredded shirt, painstakingly run the thread through the tatters of cotton. She smiled to herself as the cloth came together as if it had never been torn in the first place. Fleur watched. Gabrielle hadn’t even noticed her, so focused on her _work_. There was a half-trunk of mended clothing already. Fleur couldn’t remember a time when Gabrielle had been so dedicated to their work rather than a book.

“What are you doing?” Fleur asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Gabrielle jumped at Fleur’s voice.

“Um...mending. Like I’m supposed to,” Gabrielle muttered. Fleur looked at her sister in disbelief.

“I see. When you’ve just spent coin on Master Binns’ new volume on the rise of the Slytherins?” Fleur asked, laughing softly.

Gabrielle flushed. “You’re always yelling at me for not helping so, I’m helping,” she grumbled under her breath. She let out a tiny yelp as she pricked her finger again, blood welling to the surface, beading on to the shirt.

Fleur hummed. Now that she looked carefully, there were tiny spots of blood on everything and Gabrielle’s fingers looked bright red, smeared with dried blood. She was putting _effort_ in.

“You’re hurting yourself to do this. Do you wish to tell me why you haven’t given me this massive trunk of clothing? You’re smearing blood on everything,” Fleur said pointedly.

Gabrielle flushed. “I can do it by myself, _Fleur_ ,” she snapped. “A customer came in and he—”

Fleur laughed again, bright, like sound of pealing bells.

“Ah. _He_.”

Gabrielle dropped the shirt, needle, and thread into her lap. She glared.

“It’s not like that!” she protested. “He’s not...it’s not...he’s a creature, I think. Like us.”

Fleur shrugged and gave her sister a knowing smirk. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you find him attractive,” Fleur suggested. Gabrielle made another sound of protest. “Ah, ah. Why is this so hard for you to admit?”

Gabrielle huffed and shook her head as she picked up her mending. She intended to finish at least two more shirts before she went to bathe and curl up with her book. The day had been long and she was tired and tomorrow, she’d have to wash the shirts of her blood and get started on the trousers.

“He’s not...attractive. In the regular way. He’s odd. Intriguing. A mystery,” Gabrielle said.

Fleur frowned at her little sister’s insistence.

“If you’re not going to talk to me about it, fine. But just...don’t do anything stupid. His clothes are fine, though tattered. He is a wealthy man and wealth means power. We don’t want to attract the wrong sort of attention,” Fleur said, snippily.

“I _know_ , Fleur,” Gabrielle groaned in exasperation.

She watched her sister's back as the beautiful woman danced away the back room, probably to continue up one of the many Independence Day ball commissions that she had been receiving over the past few weeks. Abrielle glared for a moment before her harsh expression softened into a pensive look.

She wondered what Mr. Greyback had been doing that had reduced his beautiful clothing into shreds. She wondered if he was a wealthy man, as her sister perceived. Perhaps he was one of the Dukes of the Council, a creature flying under the radar to make right the country. Or even an adventurer of sorts. He had the rugged look of a man who knew the woods well. Perhaps he’d even been to the most famous woods of all—the Forbidden Forest.

Gabrielle glanced at Master Binns’ new tome, all about the Slytherins. It almost called to her.

“No...got to finish the shirts like I said,” she muttered to herself before she let out a long sigh.

There was work to be done and the candles wouldn’t burn forever.

* * *

**IS FAIREST**   


* * *

   


“You have...a dragon,” Ron said, stupidly, looking at the dragonet curled into Harry’s lap. His lips were curled in disgust as Harry tried to coax the strips of cooked beef to the dragonet. It was shrieking is dislike, turning its head away.

“I’ve had a dragon for two weeks, Ron,” Harry said without looking up. “Freia, my love, you must eat.”

Charlie cleared his throat. Helpfully, he said, “Baby dragons should be fed a bucket of brandy mixed with chicken blood on a half-hour basis.” Harry looked up, sharply, his green eyes narrowed. “Uh, but meat is good too. Probably raw meat would be better.”

“Charlie...don’t piss him off. He’s got a _dragon_ ,” Fred hissed from the corner of his mouth.

George snorted. “Yeah. You know the beast that was raised from _extinction_.”

“You’re not nearly as quiet as you think, my friends. Freia is not a _beast_ ,” Harry said, his eyes cold and Ginny cleared her throat, thinking better of her jests about the baby dragon in Harry’s lap. “Are you sure about this, Charlie?”

“Uh, yes, your Grace. I’m...I really like dragons,” Charlie said with pink in his cheeks.

Harry smiled, beautifully, making Charlie flush darker. "I do too. Charlie, will you do something for me? Take Fred and George and help the cooks prepare at least two vats for Freia. I want to know that I'm doing the right thing by her. And if you see me doing anything else wrong, correct me."

“Yes, your Grace,” Charlie said, bowing and taking a step back.

Fred and George mocked their brother, mouthing ‘your Grace, your Grace’, their faces twisted with amusement. Harry snorted behind his hand as the trio stepped out, leaving Ron, Ginny, and Bill. Percy was off, following after McGonagall, with notes in hand, as per usual.

“I can’t believe you have a bloody dragon,” Ron said, shaking his head in disbelief as he sat on the edge of the table. He looked at the dragon, purring like a cat. “You reckon it can breathe fire?”

“Only smoke at the moment. She’s growing so fast,” Harry said, softly. “Just a week ago, she could fit into my hands. Now, she’s the size of a cat.”

“Her name is ‘Freia’. What does it mean?” Bill asked, curiously, pulling out a chair and sitting down, his eyes trained on Freia. Harry continued to stroke Freia’s head as if he didn’t notice the razor sharp teeth that were piercing through her gums, and the sharpening horns along her body.

"Freia means ‘lady' in one of the old, ancient languages. She was an old god of love, beauty, war, and death," Harry said, patiently.

Ginny’s eyes narrowed, shrewdly. “The embodiment of this war.”

Freia let out a screech, as if approving of Ginny’s words.

Harry’s lips curled into a tight smile. “Exactly.”

* * *

  **OF THEM**

* * *

   


Her eyes burned as waded through the ocean, her gown and cloak waterlogged. The only thing keeping her afloat was the selkie skin that she had stolen, wrapped around her to keep her as warm as she could be in the frigid icy waters. Bellatrix could smell it, taste it on her tongue—the salt bridge was near.

Bellatrix grit her teeth against the burning salt as she reached forward with her heavy arm. She curled her fingers into the churning sea and let out a sound of triumph as her fingers sunk into something hard and rocky. She ripped at it and saw little coral-colored crystals cutting into the hardened skin of her palm.

With effort, she pulled herself out of the ocean and crawled onto the hard surface. Bellatrix watched in wonder as the salt bridge rose from just beneath the surface, a long pink bridge that led farther and farther away from the shores of Albion.

Bellatrix looked over her shoulder. The mountains and beaches of Albion were lost to the night, formless shadows on a moonless horizon. Her Albion, her empire. It nearly made her want to weep. All of the things that she had lost in her sister's pursuit of power. Her throne, her Albion, her brother. _Tom_.

Tom who had the Fairest on his lap. Tom who had not come for her. Tom who had forgotten her.

Bellatrix let out a cry and slammed her fist into the salt bridge. The jagged edges cut into her skin, blood streaking. The cuts burned, the salt of the ocean still dripping off of her in puddles onto the salt bridge.

The crone pushed herself to her feet, a foul expression upon her face as she began to walk. She would walk until she found the end of this salt bridge until she found the Sea Warlock. He would help restore her to her former bliss. He would return her beauty and her magic. Bellatrix would not stop, though the soles of her feet were touch and streaked with red from broken blisters. She would not fail.

She would pay any price.

“We will seek and we will find. I wonder...I wonder...I wonder. So, so far, we shall have his heart. We shall have his heart. And his heart is ours...and his heart is _mine_ ,” Bellatrix promised herself and she closed her eyes against the salty winds, tears streaking down her wizened face.

She imagined that stupid boy’s glassy green eyes. How they would look when she had broken his heart out of his chest with her own bare hands.

Eyes wide with horror. Skin pale as death. Lips red with his own blood. Black hair strewn across the ground. Agony. She would keep him alive until the very end.

He had taken from her.

He had taken her beauty.

He had taken her brother.

She would take his heart.

* * *

  **ALL?**

* * *

   


She sat before the fragile pages of the old tome, unseeing. The words had blurred together on her page, becoming nothing more than nonsense, read a thousand times over. There was nothing in the book that she had not known, that she had not lived. Reading it all, her histories had once given her comfort. No longer. The old woman pushed the book from her desk, violently. It hit the floor with a heavy thud, dying in a small cloud of dust.

The old woman stood, abruptly, dark blue robes dragging across the rotting wooden floors. She gazed out of the window, her eyes caught on the Narrow Sea. If she looked far enough right, she could see the shapeless form of the Narrow Bridge. The great bridge had been one of the accomplishments she had been most proud of. If she looked far enough across the sea, she thought she might be able to see the coast to the mainland.

How she missed the mainland. How she missed Essetir, the East.

The tide was high, frothing, swirling blackness brushing across white stone, as if they were lovers. Really, it was only old cliffs, on which her little cottage teetered on the edge of.

Nothing more and nothing less.

The woman turned away from the window, her long silver mane swinging against her back. She walked as a queen should. She looked to the second bedroom. She wondered if her beloved friend was asleep or if he had been awakened by the knocking of magic too.

The Once Queen shook herself and sat her armchair, eyes sliding shut. When she stared at the black of her eyelids, she could remember Helena’s laughter—Helena who hurt to remember at all—and Lily running through the orchards, Fawkes soaring high above her. She could remember watching Lily scale trees like a small money and James crawling up after her.

“Rowena.”

The voice trembled with age. Rowena Ravenclaw remembered a time when Salazar’s voice inspired fear and respect, full of power.

“Salazar?” she asked.

“The blade burned.”

Rowena flinched.

“There’s...so, the rumors are true. Lily had a son...there’s an _Heir_ ,” Rowena whispered, her voice cracking with hope. She didn’t dare smile just yet, not when it felt so unreal.

Salazar nodded. “A Prince, Rowena. A Prince _lives_.”

Rowena stood from her seat so suddenly, her armchair rocked, scraping against the wooden floors. She went to Salazar, gripping his forearms tight. His emotions were hard to discern, as per usual, but Rowena saw a glimmer of hope.

“Then, we must send for him. Collect him,” Rowena insisted.

Salazar shook his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Salazar confirmed. “Not yet, at least. He must train. He must grow strong. The blade burns hot but, he is not ready to wield the Sword. Not yet.”

Rowena sagged within herself, disappointment stirring low in her body. Her ‘grand-nephew’ was not yet ready to assume his place. But, there was still hope that he would bring an end to the wars.

“Many years ago, your wife brought great evil into the world.”

Her words were blunt, harsh, and nothing but truth. Salazar did not flinch. She had spoken the words so many times before and every time, the words had hurt less and less than before. Every time, they felt more and more true.

Salazar was not blind nor was he a fool.

Four children. Four beautiful children. One was chaos, twitching with energy, so much that it ate her alive. One was diamond, unbreakable. One was iron, solid and heavy with grief. The last, his only son, was ice.

“Many years ago, my wife brought great evil into this world,” Salazar agreed, his voice soft.

Rowena looked at him, solemn. “And many years later, the Prince of Gryffindor shall rid this world of great evil.”

“And many years later, the Prince of Gryffindor shall rid this world of great evil,” Salazar confirmed.

Rowena smiled.

Before she died alone, before her time was gone, before the _world_ was gone, she’d have her vengeance.

For her broken kingdom.

For her stolen life.

For her murdered Helena.


	2. Chapter Two

Voldemort had always enjoyed the view from his study. The road into Forbidden Forest, on his side of the castle, led south, and cut into Hogsmeade. Hogsmeade had always been enjoyable when he was a boy. Now, he stared out on the troops training, troops that would be his downfall, falling in line behind Dolohov, the imbecile. On the other side of the castle were the carriages and caravans belonging to the Houses that had been invited to court. Houses that Voldemort wouldn’t dare trust.

“Surrounded on all sides by psychopathic idiots,” Voldemort sighed.

Severus and Lucius exchanged pointed glances. Severus cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“My Lord, will you permit me to speak my mind?” Severus asked, slowly.

Voldemort rolled his red gaze onto his most trusted lieutenants. “You may,” he drawled.

“Much of this was... _your_ doing, my Lord,” Severus said, slowly.

“ _Crucio_.”

Voldemort didn’t let it go on long. Only a few seconds. Enough that Severus wheezed on his knees, breathing hard as if he’d just run a race. Voldemort stared. Any longer would’ve been hypocritical. He _had_ permitted the man to speak, anyway.

“Apologies, my Lord,” Severus gasped.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “I’m sure, Severus,” he drawled. He turned and sat back at his desk. “ _Accio_ journal.”

A nondescript black book flew from his bookcase and floated gently in front of him. It flipped open, revealing his pages and pages of secrets.

“My Lord?” Lucius asked.

“I am looking for potential allies for the King,” Voldemort drawled as he looked through the secrets. His fingers stopped. Alfheim. A country of savages--warriors trained harder than even Andromeda’s servants. A very _poor_ country of savages. And their king...well, Voldemort knew things about him. “We’ll need coin too.”

“My Lord, forgive me, but you do not speak of my son, do you?” Lucius asked, his voice soft.

Voldemort looked up, sharply. “I know one King and it is the King in the South. You know this.”

“I take no issue,” Lucius said immediately. “I only wanted to clarify.”

He nearly pouted and Voldemort stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Lucius was such a child, it was nearly amusing. He looked between Lucius and Severus. Lucius lounged across his sofa, inspecting his wizarding chessboard. Severus stared out of the window, watching from afar.

“We cannot return just yet,” Voldemort said.

Severus turned a sharp gaze to the Dark Lord.

“So, we’ll be joining you next time,” Lucius said, very nearly whining.

The Dark Lord rolled his eyes. “You will soon. Your skills can be utilized while we are there. It’s been nearly three weeks. There is work to be done.”

“There is _always_ work to be done, my Lord,” Severus said, his voice soft as he looked at the grounds. Dolohov remained outside, training the new Aurors. Aurors that would be replaced by the ones lost. “Did he really burn them all?”

“He did,” Voldemort said. “And he has a dragon.”

“A _dragon_?” Lucius said, choking over his wine. Severus turned sharply.

“A _dragon_?” Severus hissed.

“He calls her...Freia,” Voldemort said, his lips curled into a sneer. “She is a Horntail, and she will grow fast. His fire...awakened a petrified dragon egg.”

“Merlin…” Lucius breathed, finishing his wine in one swallow.

Severus turned to stare back at the training soldiers. Young and fresh-faced and eager to serve. Sons of men and women, ready to prove themselves. Severus had seen Harry Potter. He had seen the boy-prince. The boy-prince that had stricken fear and grimness into Draco’s face. The _King_ that haunted some of the Aurors. The King with a dragon.

What a bloody, bloody war this would be. A war of fire and blood.

“My Lord, we have decided who is loyal,” Severus said.

Voldemort paused. “Do tell.”

“Barty will remain loyal. And House Lestrange,” Lucius volunteered even as Severus glowered at him. Voldemort snorted in vague amusement.

“Oh, I know. Rodolphus has made his disdain quite clear. He’s lucky he’s my Death Eater. Draco would’ve had him executed already,” Voldemort drawled. Rodolphus had never been one to flatter, not after Bellatrix, and he had very little patience with children. “Dolohov and Macnair are traitors, aren’t they?”

“That is...the conclusion we came to, as well, my Lord,” Severus said, nearly apologetic. Only nearly. Severus never apologized, not even for his own mistakes. He simply did better.

“What about--”

Voldemort paused as he felt his wards tremble against a force of magic. It was strange. It nearly felt like magic’s knock but, forceful and threatening. Voldemort lifted his wand, peeling back the wards and his door slammed open. Andromeda swept in and slammed the door shut behind her.

She strode up to Voldemort’s desk.

“I know you’ve been back,” Andromeda said, harshly, ignoring Severus and Lucius. They attempted to gather their notes and papers, hiding them from her. Andromeda cast them a dangerous look. “I _know_ what my brother is up to. I’m surprised at you Lucius. Betraying your son. Your own blood.”

“I am not like you Slytherins. I do not put blood over the good of the realm, of the world, and the good health of my son’s mind,” Lucius said, his voice hard. “I love my son but, he is long-lost. I would put him out of his misery.”

Andromeda snorted and turned back to her brother, her arms crossed over her chest.

“I want to know about my daughter. You’ve seen her again. How is she? What does she look like?” Andromeda demanded. “I want to see her.”

Voldemort hummed. “Do you?” he drawled.

“Yes. And you can’t keep me from her,” Andromeda spat.

Voldemort regarded his sister for a long moment, simply looking at her with a slight tilt of his head. Andromeda glowered back, standing her ground. She had always been the only sister that stood up to him. He enjoyed his battles with her.

“I daresay I can. I already told you,” Voldemort said as he reached for the pitcher of water and began to pour into a crystal goblet. He paused, waving his wand over the water. It turned to blood-red wine and Andromeda took it, draining half the glass in one go.

“I haven’t even met your prince. I do what is in the best interest of my people. Afallon,” Andromeda said.

“It is in your best interest to bend the knee, Lady Warden,” Severus warned.

Voldemort looked up sharply. Severus did not look at his Lord nor did he acknowledge his warning glance. Severus strode forward, pouring more of the water-turned-wine into Andromeda’s cup. She regarded it.

“And why would you say that, Severus?” she drawled. “What would the prince of Gryffindor give me. My people live comfortably now and largely independent from the King’s rule. We are separated by the Narrow Sea. I could burn the Narrow Bridge. I could set up wards, hiding us away. I am not afraid of this war.”

“You should be,” Lucius said. “You should be afraid.”

“Why?” Andromeda snarled, taking a long swig of her wine.

“He has a dragon,” Severus said, shortly. “And he has your daughter.”

Andromeda inhaled sharply and stared into her goblet of wine, careful not to say anything else. She had never seen a dragon but, she vaguely remembered her Aunt Helga’s tall tales about slaying the last dragons of the land. Her own wand’s core was a petrified dragon heartstring. To hear that the beasts that had ravaged her land breathed and wandered Albion again made her only wish to be drunker.

Voldemort reached across the table, holding Andromeda’s goblet to the desk.

“Andromeda, my dear, _dear_ sister,” Voldemort mocked. Andromeda sneered. “Bend the knee to the _King_ of Albion and I will bring you to Nymphadora myself.”

Andromeda ripped her glass from Voldemort’s hand, wine sloshing over their fingers. She drained the goblet and set it down so hard, it cracked. She regarded the three of them for a long time before she swept from the room, the only sound her steps and the clinking of her chainmail.

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Luna moved around the room with a sort of grace that Hermione didn’t often see of her. She looked calm, her gaze faraway as she looked between the two gowns, one bottle green, a Slytherin color, and the other periwinkle, like the gown that she had worn when Hermione had first seen Draco. Hermione cleared her throat.

“Periwinkle,” she requested. It was the last time she had felt nearly like herself.

“A good choice,” Luna declared, less enthusiastic than she usually would be. She pulled the periwinkle gown and held it out. Hermione stepped into it and allowed Luna to lace her up. “The House Longbottom is quite kind, I believe. There is no need to worry. They won’t harbor you ill will.”

Hermione didn’t respond as Luna laced the robes up, using her wand to guide the laces and stays into place. Luna guided Hermione to the chair and set to work, attempting to tame her hair. It was typical now that Luna smeared Sleakeazy all over Hermione’s head. A simple braid was not becoming of a future queen.

“ _Fanuilos heryn aglar_

_Aran athar haradren-d_ _ôr,_

_Calad ammen i reniar_

_Mi ‘aladhremmin ennorath!”_ Luna sang, softly as she smeared the Sleakeazy over the thick curls, running a comb through and watching it come away long and straight like silk.

Hermione closed her eyes as Luna sang, her voice ethereal. She had never heard Luna sing but it was stunning. It soothed her soul and yet, her heart beat faster. She could get used to hearing her.

“ _A Wyrdfod Raw_

_I chîn a thûl lin míriel_

_Fanuilos le linnathon_

_Ne ndor haer thar i aearon.”_

Luna sang as she weaved Hermione’s hair and Hermione gasped as she looked at the young woman. Her eyes were pale, her pupils the size of tiny pinpricks. She didn’t seem to be seeing what she was doing, her muscles trained. Luna waved in an imaginary wind, a tiny slip of a girl with such a big powerful voice.

“ _A elin na gaim eglerib_

_Ned în ben-anor trerennin_

_Si silivrin ne pherth ‘waewib_

_Cenim rovalug dosta dram_

_A Wyrdfod Raw_

_Men echenim sí cordof derthiel_

_Ne chaered hen nu ‘aladhath_

_Ngilith or haradren-d_ _ôr_ _._ ”

The song came to an end and Hermione’s dread had disappeared, floating away. Luna looked down at her and smiled. Hermione’s hair had been tamed into an elaborately braided bun that was heavy at the nape of her neck.

“My...my friend, Fleur, used to speak in that language,” Hermione whispered.

“It is the language of the Fae. Do you feel better?” Luna said, softly. Hermione laughed, nodding as she looked up at the woman. Luna smiled, squeezing Hermione’s shoulders. “Good.”

“What...what were you singing about?” Hermione asked, curiously.

Luna hummed. “The Wyrdfod.”

“What is that?”

“We cannot...it is hard...to translate,” Luna said, as if the word escaped her. Hermione mouthed the word ‘Wyrdfod’. It fit awkwardly in her mouth. “I suppose...Fateborn. _Er-amarthan._ That is what we called fated ones. But, Wyrdfod...Wyrdfod is specific. A king, white as snow, that rows and breathes fire. It is a prophecy.”

Hermione hummed. She had never put much stock in prophecies, and especially, not after Fleur. Fleur had foreseen great happiness for Hermione in Albion. Hermione had yet to experience any happiness at all except for the rare moments of quiet that she had when she saw with Luna in her room. Otherwise, she was utterly alone. Suddenly, her stomach ached. She missed Fleur and Gabrielle more than anything.

Luna reached for her hand. “Please, Hermione...tell me what’s wrong. You are not usually so sad.”

“It’s just…it’s Independence Day in the Republic. My father’s favorite holiday and the anniversary of his wedding to my stepmother.”

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

The bell on the door rang. Gabrielle pretended, she didn’t hear it, too engrossed in her new book. The rise of the Slytherins was so interesting. They were so monstrous and mystical. And the portraits of them showed that they were just as beautiful as Master Binns’ described. The Albion books always made Gabrielle excited. She prayed for another volume soon.

Gabrielle turned the page, intrigued by the tales of gnomes and dwarves and trolls and giants all under the Slytherin regime. Creatures roamed freely in Albion, something wasn’t allowed in the Republic. Gabrielle hummed in delight. Albion sounded wonderful sometimes. Even the war sounded better than her life in Republic, constantly under threat and suspicion.

“Are you enjoying that book?” a low voice purred.

Gabrielle jumped, her book dropping to the counter with a loud thud. She cursed low as her fingers slipped and she lost her page. She looked up at the man who grinned down at her. His lips were curled back over too sharp teeth, and his hair hung wild around his face. This time Gabrielle noticed the thick, jagged scar that curled from behind hear, down his neck, and past his collar.

“Oh! Mr. Greyback...is it time already?” Gabrielle stuttered as she tried to flip to her page again. She flushed as she folded over the corner of the page and made to throw the book down at her feet.

Before Gabrielle could, Fenrir plucked the book from her fingers and looked at the cover before he flipped to the page she had marked. He looked back up at her with amber eyes and a wicked smile. Gabrielle fought to keep her flush away and she sighed in relief when she succeeded.

“You know, Miss Gabrielle, if someone unsavoury found you reading a book that could be said to be sympathetic towards creatures, you could get into a lot of trouble,” Fenrir drawled, nearly apologetic. Gabrielle pressed her lips into a thin line and she snatched the book from the man and dropped it to her feet, pushing it farther beneath the counter.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gabrielle whispered, tracing the grain of the counter.

Fenrir’s hand flashed out, grabbing her hand and turning it over, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

“I’m not one of the unsavoury, my dear,” Fenrir said, his voice terribly soft.

Gabrielle blushed and pulled her hand back. She slid out of her seat and proceeded towards the backroom. Gabrielle looked over her shoulder and flushed. Fenrir was staring at her with the oddest look on his face. He looked hungry and Gabrielle found that he was nearly handsome despite the animalistic slant to his face.

She carefully ignored Fleur as she did the final fitting for Brigitte Godard’s Independence Ball robes. Brigitte Godard was a debutante whom was daughter of a wizarding merchant that specialized in foreign potion ingredients. _She_ had been to Albion many times according to the bragging that punctuated her visits to the shop.

“Do you need something?” Fleur asked.

“Customer came for a trunk,” Gabrielle said, looking through the table of shrunken trunks. She plucked Fenrir’s trunk up and made her way back to the front of the shop.

Fenrir’s lips curled into a wider smile.

“Would you prefer it shrunken or shall I spell it big again?” Gabrielle asked, as pleasantly and professionally as possible.

“It’s all finished, then. There were nearly three wardrobes of clothes in there, most in ruins. I thought you would’ve told me it was impossible,” Fenrir said.

Gabrielle’s eyes narrowed. “If you knew they were in ruins, why did you give them to us? It was quite a lot, I’ll have you know. It took _hours_ away from my reading time,” she said, crossly and when she realized what she had said, she cleared her throat in embarrassment.

Fenrir let out a rough laugh.

“Well, then, I’m sincerely sorry, Miss Gabrielle, and I hope that you’ll find it in you to forgive me. Didn’t think you’d be doing all the mending,” he said, teasing.

Gabrielle’s lips twitched. “Well, I _was_ the one to do all the mending. And I finished my book anyway. I had to do half of it by _hand_ because magic wouldn’t get all of the tiny stitch-work right,” Gabrielle complained, annoyed, and she was surprised when Fenrir nodded, as if he actually cared about Gabrielle’s stitch-work and her reading time.

“I’m sure. Now, pretty girl, what will the price be for your hard work?” Fenrir asked with a slow smile and Gabrielle hummed, looking down at Fleur’s book, searching for the price.

“Seventeen galleons and three sickles, Mr. Greyback,” Gabrielle said. She watched as Fenrir pulled out a small brown pouch from the inside of his heavy cloak and tossed it on the counter.

Gabrielle opened it and carefully counted out twenty-six galleons. Her eyes went wide.

“You can keep the change,” Fenrir said, offhandedly.

Gabrielle shook her head. “But, that’s not right. It’s your money.”

“Buy a new book then, pretty girl. Fill your head with tales of faraway countries at wars,” Fenrir said, firmly.

“I only need seventeen galleon and three sickles. A book is two galleons at _most_ ,” Gabrielle insisted.

“Fine, pretty girl. Keep the change and in return, I’d ask you to attend the Independence Ball at the _Manoir_ tonight. I would enjoy your company,” Fenrir said, and he pulled forth two starched invitations, beautiful calligraphy addressed with Fleur and Gabrielle’s names embossed.

“How did you...I’m not…” Gabrielle said, settling a clenched fist on the countertop.

“My dear, everyone knows the Delacour girls. It was quite hard _not_ to find your name on some man’s lips. You’re beautiful,” Fenrir said and Gabrielle felt her cheeks grow hot. She shook her head, looking down at the invitations on the countertop.

“I...thank you, Mr. Greyback. I’ll discuss this with my sister,” Gabrielle whispered.

Fenrir nodded and grabbed her clenched fist and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Gabrielle gasped softly.

“I hope to see you tonight, Miss Gabrielle,” Fenrir said and he scooped up his shrunken trunk and strolled towards the door, his walk increasingly predatory.

Gabrielle found herself shouting at his back, “Just Gabrielle, sir!”

Fenrir looked over his shoulder as he exited the shop, his grin wide.

“Then, it’s just Fenrir, miss!”

As soon as the bell jangled, Gabrielle snatched up the invitations and she scooped the galleons back into the little sack. She ran towards the backroom, stumbling over her own feet. Brigitte was just finishing up her fitting, posing in front of the full-body mirror. Gabrielle bit her lower lip in envy, looking at the hunter green robes. It was in the old Albion style, open and showing her breasts like Morgin of Afallon had done. She was stunning as always and in a non-magical way. Oh, Gabrielle was _envious_.

“Gabrielle, what is it? I’m in the middle of a fitting,” Fleur said, confusion colouring her voice.

“I know...but, well...I just received two invitations from the Independence Ball at the _Manoir_ from a client!” Gabrielle confessed and Fleur nearly dropped the needle that was held in between her slender fingers.

Gabrielle felt a thrill of satisfaction as Brigitte gasped.

“From which client?” Fleur asked, patiently.

“Mr. Greyback. He gave us _twenty-six_ galleons and when I said that was too much and that it wasn’t fair, he said that I should go with him to the ball in exchange. He wants me... _us_..to be there. Could we go? _Please_?” Gabrielle begged and Fleur’s eyes widened as the words flowed from Gabrielle’s mouth without the younger girl taking a single breath.

Fleur’s eyes narrowed as she thought over Gabrielle’s request. Her lips quirked into a half-smile.

“Mr. Greyback? Did he really give us that much? It was only a trunk,” Fleur said.

Brigitte snorted, shaking her head. “Little girl, you must be mistaken. Mr. Greyback is a great and influential man. One of the highest-ranking officials in the Republic. He wouldn’t invite a little girl as his companion.”

Gabrielle glared at the merchant heiress.

“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I was invited and I have the invitations to prove it, not that is should be any concern of _yours_ ,” Gabrielle said coldly before turning soft eyes onto her sister. “Please, Fleur. He invited us. Could we go? Please?”

The older Delacour sister looked at Gabrielle’s face before a cautious smile spread across her face.

“Alright. We’ll go.”

* * *

 

**ON**

* * *

 

“Lady Hermione,” the woman proclaimed, with bright eyes and a small smile.

Lady Daphne Greengrass was a beautiful woman, with long cornflower silk hair pulled back from her face, and a perky upturned nose. Her wide smile matched her round face. There was something rather alien about her beauty, the way her skin was nearly tinged green in the light of the Greenhouse, her eyes light and pointed. She was far lovelier than Hermione and Hermione knew it. Hermione swallowed. She had seen how Draco had looked at Daphne. Daphne was one to watch.

“Lady Daphne, it is so very good to meet you,” Hermione said with a short little curtsey.

Daphne laughed. It was a practiced sound. “My Lady, I should be curtseying to you. One day you will be Queen!”

“I suppose,” Hermione allowed with a nervous smile. She looked over her shoulder at Luna but, her maid was already disappearing back to the grounds. “You do not stay in the castle?”

“No. My brother-ward, Neville, is a Herbologist and prefers to stay close to his plants. And my grandmother...well...I’m sure you’ll understand soon enough. Come, she’s eager to meet you,” Daphne said, reaching forward and looping her arm around Hermione’s thin waist.

Hermione jerked against her but didn’t pull away. She stared in wonder as Daphne guided her into the largest Longbottom tent. It was much warmer than the unforgiving November air. Hermione twisted her fur cloak off her back, holding it in her arms as she looked around.

The tent was an enormous greenhouse, full of magical plants, some that Hermione had never seen before. Foreign, violently colored flowers dangled from the ceilings. It was a lush, green paradise, so similar to the orchards of Hogwarts grounds and yet, so much brighter. _Happier_. Men and women, dressed in clothing that looked far more appropriate for Alfheim, a country to the South, danced around, dirt-encrusted fingers potting and repotting plants.

“This is _wonderful_ ,” Hermione said, unable to help herself.

Daphne laughed. “All my ward-brother’s work. Here he comes. Neville!”

Neville Longbottom was nearly unrecognizable in ragged, mud-covered robes. They were open over a tunic and old ratty breeches, and he looked nearly happy. When Hermione had seen him just a few days before, he had been solemn and wane but, he was a handsome young man. Neville’s round face brightened at the sight of his sister.

“Daph!” he laughed, and he turned back to his pots. He had been tending to a strange plant that resembled a rather large, thick black slug which oozed a strange yellow pus. “And Lady Hermione. Welcome to the Greenhouse.”

“It’s lovely, my Lord,” Hermione said. She eagerly moved forward, pulling away from Daphne’s hold. She reached a finger forward towards one of the shiny protrusions. “What’s this?”

“ _Protego!_ ” Neville and Daphne called out at once as yellow pus exploded forward. Hermione jerked back, wide-eyed as the pus slid down from the magical shield.

Neville winced, looking at her wild eyes, as if he expected to be reprimanded.

Hermione grinned. “Oh, Merlin. I’ve never seen anything like it. How extraordinary.”

Neville grinned. “Isn’t it? It’s a Bubotuber. Bubotuber pus is very good for treating spots, you know. I’m not sure if Daphne has told you. I’m a Herbologist.”

“She has!” Hermione said. “Have you seen the Whomping Willow? It’s a strange specimen. I haven’t gotten near but, my maid tells me the funniest stories about it.”

“It’s one of the reasons that I came,” Neville said, leaning forward with a bright smile on his face, a flush on his cheeks. Hermione laughed, flushing despite herself.

It had been a long time since she had been met with any sort of kindness.

“Brother, should you be flirting with the King’s betrothed?” Daphne teased.

Hermione swallowed hard, looking away. Neville made a sound of protest.

“I...it’s been quote some time since I’ve engaged in intellectual conversation, my Lady. In my country, the Republic, I wished to one day be an activist. An academic,” Hermione said, honestly and Daphne’s gaze softened as she took Hermione’s hand, squeezing tightly.

“I’m only teasing, my Lady. I understand. Happy Independence Day,” Daphne said, softly.

Hermione gasped, a tiny smile twisting her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Now, come! My grandmother is not a patient woman,” Daphne said and she tugged Hermione forward, through the long winding paths of Muggle and magical plants alike. Hermione looked around in wonder and glanced over her shoulder.

Neville waved. Hermione waved back, grinning. Such a friendly, kind man. Like his sister-ward.

When Hermione saw her, she was struck. Augusta Longbottom was a formidable woman and even sitting at her tea table, she looked tall and thin. A vulture, haggard and terrifying, sat on the back of her chair, gnawing as one of the maids, draped in sheer silk fed it raw chunks of meat.

“Lady Hermione, it’s an honor to present my grandmother, the Lady Augusta of House Longbottom,” Daphne said as they approached the table.

Augusta extended her hand and Hermione took it, kissing her knuckles immediately. Augusta smiled.

“It’s so good of you to visit me. Come join us for tea and cakes,” Augusta insisted and Hermione nodded with a shy smile, settling in her chair. Daphne fell into her own chair, leaning back. “Do you enjoy the Greenhouse?”

“It’s lovely, isn’t it? Only the orchards here can rival them, I expect,” Daphne said with a tiny smile as she waited to be served her tea. She was the most impeccable lady that Hermione had ever seen. She envied her.

“Do you know my grandson? The Lord of Arcadia?” Augusta asked.

Hermione smiled. “I’ve just had the pleasure.”

Augusta chuckled. “No great pleasure, believe me. My grandson is a kind-hearted oaf. Not much of a Lord, if you ask me. Much like my husband, the late Lord Longbottom. He managed to ride off a cliff whilst hunting,” Augusta said, rolling her eyes. Hermione let out a tiny laugh. Now...I want you to tell me the truth about this royal king. Draco.”

Hermione stiffened and she looked around. She couldn’t be sure that all of these women and men belonged to House Longbottom. “I...I…”

“You, you,” Augusta mocked. “We’ve heard troubling tales, my dear. Is there any truth to them? Is he as terrible as his predecessor?”

Hermione looked down, silent. She missed Augusta and Daphne exchanging glances.

“Has he ripped out your tongue, girl?” Augusta demanded.

“Draco...King Draco, his Grace, is very fair and handsome and as cunning as a snake…”

“Yes, all Slytherins are snakes. And when a Longbottom farts, it smells like an ass,” August snapped, her eyes narrowed. Hermione looked up, sharply, a startled laugh escaping her. “But, how kind is he? How clever? Has he a good heart, a gentle hand?”

Daphne reached forward, grabbing Hermione’s hand as she began to pull scones and cream, putting it on a tiny saucer for Hermione. She began to plate poached eggs.

“Please, Hermione. We are to be friends and I’ve never been to court. I only want to know,” Daphne said, so sweetly, pressing the saucer against Hermione’s hands. Hermione was helpless and she began to nibble at the scone. It didn’t taste like ash, like the food at Hogwarts. Perhaps because this food had been given to her by kind people.

A server appeared with breakfast cakes on a platter.

“Bring me sausages. I wish for something savory,” Augusta said grimly.

The server cleared his throat. “The meats will be served momentarily, my lady.”

“The sausages will be served when I want it served,” Augusta said. “I want it now.”

The server nodded. He bowed and left.

“Are you frightened, my girl? There’s no need for that. After all, we’re only women. Tell us the truth. We shall protect you,” Augusta swore.

Hermione cleared her throat. She needed no protection. She had her wits and magic now, and she didn’t think Draco would dare lay another hand on her after the Dark Lord had defended her. However, he would find a way to torment her mentally. She was sure of that.

“My father always told the truth. He was a merchant of the Gaul Republic,” Hermione said, her voice soft. “My stepmother, Lady Zabini, killed him. I’m sure of it. With his death came slavery. I was her slave in all but name. And...and I met Draco at a ball. He promised me mercy. That he would bring me to a new life free of servitude.”

She paused.

“Go on,” Daphne murmured. “There’s no need to be afraid. Grandmother, tell her.”

“We would never betray your confidence, Lady Hermione,” Augusta promised.

Hermione swallowed. “He’s a monster.”

Neither Augusta or Daphne reacted as she thought they would. Augusta let out a long sigh and took sip of her tea, shaking her head.

“As we expected,” Augusta said.

“Monsters can be tamed. I know that well,” Daphne said with a glint in her eyes and Augusta chuckled, patting her granddaughter-ward’s cheek. Hermione looked between them, bewildered.

“You are not surprised?” Hermione asked.

“No,” Augusta drawled. “Look at his bitch-mother. We are not surprised of his monstrosity. Even so, we thank you for your truths. Ah! Here comes my sausages!”

* * *

 

**THE**

* * *

 

“Madame,” Harry began, his voice barely above a whisper in the clatter the Order members made in their haste to get in their seats. “I believe you’re sitting in my chair. You may sit directly to the left.”

McGonagall’s eyes widened and Moody and Fendwick sputtered. Tonks grinned, madly, and the Order members stared. Ron flushed.

“Harry, the Madame has—” Ron began.

McGonagall shook her head, a strange look of approval in her eyes. She slowly moved to the empty seat to the right and Harry settled at the head of the table, looking over all of the Order members with cold eyes. Freia reared back on his shoulder, letting out a loud piercing shriek. The members shifted and jumped, uncomfortable. McKinnon jerked back, her nostrils flared. Harry smiled.

“I, Harry Wildfyre, First of His Name, call this meeting to order,” Harry declared and he leaned back in his chair, looking over the Order members, one by one. He paused when he looked upon Moody, a mutinous look in his mismatched eyes. Harry smiled. “Mister Moody, you called this meeting for a reason, yes?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Moody snarled.

“It’s ‘your Grace’,” Tonks said. Moody glowered at her but, Tonks was not cowed. “He is not a Prince. He is the Rightful King-Emperor of Albion. You call him ‘your Grace’.”

“Your Grace,” Moody spat. “I called this meeting to discuss your Council. You have shown yourself which means that the people know your name. You say you are King. Every good king needs council.”

Harry nodded, slowly. “You’re right, Mister Moody. Every good king is in need of council.”

Moody looked surprised by Harry’s approval. He straightened, gaining confidence when Harry didn’t fight him. He glanced at McGonagall and McGonagall shifted, her expression betraying nothing. She was a cool woman, always had been. She had to be, to be leader of the Order of the Phoenix.

“Madame McGonagall, Fendwick, and I have discussed possibilities. The top ranking councilmembers are the Lord of Whispers, Lord of the Coin, and the Chancellor,” Moody said, very matter of factly. He waited again for another of Harry’s outbursts. Harry was barely paying attention, cooing softly to his beast. Moody gritted his teeth.

“Go on,” Harry said, never looking away from the dragonet that shrieked and nipped at his fingers playfully. The dragonet let out a soft huff, a plume of smoke emerging.

There was a nervous shifting and Harry laughed, softly.

“After further discussions, we have come to a consensus that I shall assume your council as Lord of Whispers, Fenwick as Lord of the Coin, and the Madame as your Chancellor,” Moody said, his voice quite firm.

Harry’s quiet laughter cut off immediately. He slowly turned bright green eyes onto Moody, tilting his head in quiet observation.

“You mean to _tell_ me my Council rather than making suggestions?” Harry asked. He waited for confirmation, never taking his poisonous green gaze from Moody. Moody shifted once.

His eyes was magical, allowing him to see through most any illusion. Harry’s gaze was like he could see into one’s soul. It was distracting and unnerving and dangerous.

“Yes,” Fendwick said, gruff.

Harry hummed. “I’m afraid that I’ve already selected a Council,” Harry said.

There was a loud noise of protest. McKinnon leaned forward, her eyes narrowed.

“You’ve been King for five minutes, your _Grace_. I think it would be wise to listen to the words of older men and women than you,” McKinnon snapped.

Remus shifted, uncomfortably in his seat. “I mean to agree, your Grace. The Madame is a wise woman—”

“Harry, are you really going to—”

“But, what about—”

And then the dragonet let out a loud piercing shriek again, her wings flaring out dangerously. The room fell silent and people jerked back, pulling wands in fright. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Be quiet, Freia,” he said, sharply. The dragonet cooed and pulled back, settling in his lap, curling up like a large, fat cat. Her poisonous yellow eyes tracked every person in the room, waiting for a threat to her human.

“You’ve selected a Council already?” Moody demanded, irritated.

McGonagall held up a hand. “Your Grace, if you’ve selected a Council, I have no disagreement with that. I just wish you would look to us for council as well. We have much wisdom between the three of us,” McGonagall said, her voice gentle but stern.

Harry’s lips curled into a genuine smile. “Of course, Madame,” Harry said, honestly. “But, I have consulted witches and wizards older than myself, and I have chosen a mix of old and new to council me through this war and beyond it.”

Ginny looked at him, eyes curious. She was giving him the benefit of the doubt. It made Harry’s smile widen. “Then, what is it?” she asked.

Harry cleared his throat. “First, I would legitimize the Weasleys as children of House Prewett. When I have in hand the seal of Gryffindor, that is my first order of business. How do you feel about that, Weasleys?” Harry asked.

Bill let out a choked sound and Ginny reached for Ron’s hand, squeezing hard. The twins looked to each other and Percy and Charlie burst into whispers. Harry’s lips twitched.

“How would you...legitimize us?” Bill asked, his voice soft.

“I would declare your parents’ marriage legal. They deserve such respect, do they not?” Harry asked.

“Yes, yes. Thank you, your Grace,” Fred cheered.

“All hail Harry, the tosser who lived!” George laughed.

Ginny smacked her brothers over the head, reaching over Ron’s head. Harry let out a bright laugh and nodded. He looked around the table. The Order members looked surprised but, not altogether put out by his proposal.

“That’s all well and good but—” Fendwick drawled, already bored with the proceedings.

“What does that have to do with Council?” Moody interrupted roughly.

Harry hummed. “Well, it had to do with my choice of councilmembers. Bill Weasley, Lord of House Prewett, is a skilled curse breaker, the most gifted at Arimanthancy and numbers,” Harry said, ignoring the wounded look McKinnon gave him. She was a skilled curse breaker too. “I have no talent with numbers. I would make Bill Weasley the Lord of the Coin.”

The room burst into another round of whispers and talking and Harry let it pass, keeping his eyes on Bill. The man’s face was bright red and he squirmed in his seat, tucking long orange hair behind his pierced ears. He looked over at his siblings and they nodded, eagerly.

“It would be...an _honor_ , your Grace,” Bill said, his voice soft.

“Good. I am glad to have you on my Council, my Lord,” Harry said and he turned to the rest of the Weasleys, humming. “I would have Ginny Weasley as the Commander of the Archers. In my time here, I have not seen her miss once and she is a formidable leader. Would you disagree, Mister Moody?”

Moody snarled, “ _No._ ”

“Good,” Harry said with a bright smile. He looked to Ginny. “Is that something you would consider, my Lady?”

Ginny snorted. “I’m not Lady but, I will gladly be your Commander of Archers.”

Harry laughed and leaned back in his seat.

“I have also chosen to create a new seat on my Council,” Harry said.

“You can’t do that,” Emmeline protested, leaning forward. “There hasn’t been a new seat created on a council in over seven decades.”

“Times change. Just three weeks ago, dragons were extinct,” Harry said, his voice flat. Freia perked up in his lap and Harry hummed, sliding his fingers along her thickening neck. “I would have two Keepers of my Dragon, Freia. She is to be well-fed and carefully handled. I trust two: Hagrid and Charlie Weasley of House Prewett.”

Charlie gaped. “I would...of _course_.”

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Harry asked, conspiratorial.

Charlie nodded even as Remus leaned over to whisper in Tonks’ ear, “I wouldn’t use that word.”

Harry glowered at him. “She is my child.”

Remus leaned back, his cheeks blushing pink. “Sorry, your Grace.”

“I am sure Hagrid will be up to the task, your Grace,” McGonagall said with a wry twist of a smile to her face.

“I have not forgotten you, Madame,” Harry said, his voice firm. “I would name you Commander of the Cavalry and you would take Ron Weasley under your wing. Teach him to hold his temper and be a wise leader as yourself.”

“Hey,” Ron called.

“Shut up. You need mentorship,” Ginny sniped.

Harry rolled his eyes, suppressing his smile at either of them. The Madame turned a sharp gaze onto both of them and they fell silent under her judgment.

“I shall, your Grace,” McGonagall said firmly.

“As Commander of the Infantry, I call up Kingsley Shacklebolt. You are a formidable warrior and leader, sir. Once I ascend the throne, I would ask of you to become the Head of Aurors as well,” Harry said.

The broad-shoulder black man nodded, his lips pulling into a wide smile, showing off bright white teeth. He nodded. “Yes, your Grace.”

“And your Lord of Whispers, your Grace?” Fendwick asked, leaning forward.

“And the Chancellor?” Moody demanded. “Who will serve as Chancellor?”

“Patience, good men. I’ve arrived. You really want to know, don’t you?” Harry teased, laughing. Moody and Fedwick stared at him, unamused. Harry hummed and looked around the table, his eyes falling on Tonks. “I call Lady Nymphadora Tonks of House Slytherin as my Lady of Whispers. Are you in accord, my Lady?”

Tonks’ eyes glinted.

“House _Slytherin_?” McKinnon demanded.

“Dora?” Remus asked, his voice soft in its uncertainty.

The table broke into whispers again.

“I, Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of the Warden of the West, of House Slytherin, pledge my life and soul to you, your Grace. I will serve as you wish,” Tonks declared.

The table was in uproar, debating and conflicting. Even the Weasleys looked unsure of Harry’s choice. Lady of Whispers was a powerful position, on par with the role of Chancellor.

“You pick _her_. She’s but a common _whore_ ,” Fendwick spat. He seemed to realize his words near immediately, falling back into his chair.

The room fell silent.

Harry looked at him. Freia stiffened, her neck raising, her eyes glowing.

“I wonder if Freia can breathe fire yet,” Harry said, his voice soft. Fendwick shivered. Harry raised his own hand, calling the Fire, and flames danced around his fingers, threateningly. “I can. Mister Fendwick, I’m sure you can see your way out.”

“You can’t kick me—”

“ _Füir_ ,” Harry breathed and the flames exploded, swirling around his body, but leaving everything untouched and unburned. Freia reared back again, roaring in furry.

Fendwick jumped up so fast, his chair fell back with a heavy thud. He pull his cloak tightly around him and left the room without another word. He faltered when he swung the door open and the Dark Lord stood, his eyes bright red with amusement. Fenwick sneered and pushed past him. The Dark Lord turned his eyes onto Harry.

“My King,” the Dark Lord breathed as he walked into the room.

Harry smiled, holding his hand out. “My Chancellor.”

“You can’t _possibly_ …” Moody breathed in horror.

McGonagall’s eyes widened and she shook her head, slowly, as if she couldn’t believe Harry’s words.

“I name the Dark Lord Voldemort of House Slytherin, Warden of the North, as my Lord Chancellor,” Harry said, his voice soft. The fire died around him, settling beneath his skin, into his veins. The Dark Lord crossed to stand behind Harry and Harry smiled.

“Your Grace, the Dark Lord can’t be trusted,” McGonagall said, her voice hard. “He will use his position of power to manipulate you as he did to his sister before him.”

Harry hummed, looking around at the terrified faces. He sighed, softly, shaking his head.

“Your Grace, House Gryffindor and House Potter are gone. Not a single person that shares your blood is alive to support you,” Remus said, earnestly, his gaze caught on the Dark Lord. His amber eyes burned with fury. “House Black is gone, as well, being called to heel with its Lord in Azkaban. All eliminated by the Dark Lord. Andromeda Slytherin won’t back you either. Ever. Neither will House Crouch. That leaves House Longbottom, but they’re nearly extinct. Not impossible. Not enough.”

Harry stood up, suddenly, and Freia crawled up his body, settling heavily across his shoulders. Harry walked away from the Dark Lord, keeping his eyes on Remus.

“Slytherin, Gryffindor, Potter, Black, Crouch, Longbottom. They’re all just spokes on a wheel. This one’s on top, then that one’s on top. And on and on it spins, crushing those on the ground,” Harry breathed, his voice considering.

“It’s a beautiful dream, stopping the wheel,” Remus said in earnest. “You’re not the first person who’s ever dreamt it.”

The Dark Lord’s lips twitched into a smirk.

Harry lifted his chin and said, “I’m not going to stop the wheel. I’m going to _break_ the wheel.”

 

* * *

 

**WALL**

* * *

 

“I don’t have to wear veil, do I?” Gabrielle asked as she danced across the back room, searching the racks for something suitable to wear.

Fleur knew she would find something to her liking eventually. Those were the perks of being a dressmaker. There was never an absence of something to wear. Fleur turned back to look at her younger sister whom was staring at her with a pout upon her face.

“You should,” Fleur started.

Gabrielle groaned. “Fleur! I’m not sixteen _yet_ , and my allure isn’t as obvious as yours was when you were my age,” she complained.

“I was _going_ to say ‘no’,” Fleur admonished, sharply. Her gaze softened. “But, you soon will, Gabrielle. You’re beautiful as all Veela are. They will notice soon. If we wear the veil, they won’t ever suspect our blood.”

Gabrielle nodded absently, already bored with the lessons. She looked at the gorgeous gowns and gasped when she found the dress she wanted to wear.

“Oh Fleur! Look at this one! It’s gorgeous,” Gabrielle said with a grin and she pulled the silk blue gown off of the rack, done in a popular Essetirrean style, with long floor-grazing sleeves.

Fleur flinched. She was reminded immediately of the woman from her vision. The woman of white and blue and chains. The woman on the battlefield. The blue of the dress was the exact same shade as hers. Fleur shook her head fiercely.

“No! No...I know the perfect gown for you, Gabrielle,” Fleur decided and she spun around, plucking a beautifully made gown off the rack.

It was gown that exposed her arms, a white bodice that modestly covered her and a long dove grey skirt. It was gorgeous, made for a taller woman but, Fleur could quickly hem it for Gabrielle if need be.

“It’s very pretty,” Gabrielle allowed, a thoughtful expression on her face. She took the dress from Fleur, running her fingers over the soft fabric and she hummed, pulling it to her chest. She couldn’t help her grin. She looked up at Fleur. “We’re going to the Independence Ball!”

She rushed out of the back room, unaware that Fleur wasn’t smiling.

The last time someone Fleur loved went to a ball, she hadn’t come back.

Fleur looked around the room, her stomach turning. What was that feeling? The last time Fleur had felt it, her parents had been murdered and she’d been 13, running her mother’s dress shop and raising a nine year old. What was that feeling?

Ah, dread.

* * *

 

**WHOM**

* * *

 

“What slop are you feeding her?”

Harry looked up, sharply. Freia squawked angrily, lapping at the meat soaked in brandy and chicken blood. She gnawed at it, swallowing fast and then dunked her head into the large basin, fishing for more floating bits of beef.

“Meat soaked in brandy and chicken blood. She’s hungry and eats often,” Harry said, annoyed.

“Do you really have time to waste, feeding your... _dragon_?” Voldemort asked. He was careful to avoid the word ‘beast’. It only riled Harry up and that set the beast on edge. Harry looked at him, unimpressed.

“Yes. But, if you must know, I’ve appointed much of her care to Hagrid and Charlie Weasley,” Harry said, snippily and Voldemort snorted as he Conjured a chair and sat down. Harry rolled his eyes, comfortable cross-legged on the hay-covered stable ground with his dog-sized dragon sitting in his lap.

“A half-oaf and a half-wit. Wonderful,” Voldemort drawled.

“Charlie Weasley helped best one of your Death Eaters and Hagrid is a kind man. Shut up,” Harry snapped. Voldemort rolled his eyes.

“I would cut your tongue out at the castle,” Voldemort retorted.

Harry scoffed as he regarded the man. Voldemort was a handsome man but, Harry had quickly learned that he was just as insufferable. A know-it-all that liked to cast around idle threats.

“You’re harmless. I could stop you,” Harry hissed.

Voldemort snorted. “By seducing me into submission?”

Harry fixed Voldemort with a serious expression. Voldemort waited for his retort, eager for their banter.

“Would that work?” Harry drawled.

“You’re a good lay, sweetling but, as I said, I won’t sleep with you again until you want it,” Voldemort said, long-suffering, as if it was a pain to admit such a thing. Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“What are you even doing here?” Harry snapped. “Anything useful?”

Voldemort had the audacity not to look even slightly offended. Instead, he looked endlessly amused by Harry’s antics. It made Harry burn that even now, this man still looked at him as if he were a non-threat.

“How does it feel, to be a King?” Voldemort asked instead.

Harry lurched in surprise. He frowned, meditating on the question for a long while.

“I see what you mean. About gods and monsters. They fear me,” Harry said.

“Good,” Voldemort murmured. “I work to have the Warden of the West swear fealty to you. Having Afallon as an ally is good. It’s the largest kingdom and is largely self-reliant.”

“You’ve told me that,” Harry drawled.

“I haven’t told you all of why it’s so important,” Voldemort snapped. “The Warden’s stronghold is Westeron. It sits  on the other side of Afallon and is easily accessible by ships. I believe it would be prudent if, once you’ve gathered a large army, that our base be there.”

“Karnaron is my homeland,” Harry said, patiently as he cooed to Freia. She grew bored of her food and lumbered off, most probably to terrorize the horses through the stall doors.

“You grew up in Little Whinging.”

“A large army, you say. What have you in mind?” Harry asked, swallowing his irritation. Voldemort peered down at him, with burning red eyes. Harry had the oddest feeling the man was imagining him on his knees, between his legs.

Harry flushed.

“The Death Eaters will fight for you. Most of them. The ones that do not are traitors and shall die. And we will find allies. This is why I come to you. You have a war to win,” Voldemort said.

Harry knew what that meant. _You_ have a war to win, he said. This was not Voldemort’s war. Harry had made it his war. Voldemort was here for revenge. He was here because Harry was his key to revenge. He couldn’t let himself think that there was anything redeeming about Voldemort. The man wasn’t good.

Tonks was good.

Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys were good.

Madame McGonagall was good.

Even Moody...was good, he supposed.

Harry was good.

But, Voldemort was not.

“Allies are good but, getting them will take a while, won’t it? Will Draco try anything else?” Harry asked. Voldemort looked at him, carefully weighing his words.

“Battle affected him as much as it affected you,” Voldemort said, rather than telling Harry that he traumatized the boy-king. “He is preoccupied with court. He has summoned three noble Houses to court, and he has his little Muggleborn betrothed to beat.”

Harry’s face twisted in horror.

“He _beats_ her?” Harry demanded. He stood up, getting into Voldemort’s face, standing between the man’s spread legs. Voldemort leaned back in his seat, with an eyebrow raised. “And you haven’t stopped him. Are you mad?”

“I have stopped him,” Voldemort said, dryly. “I owed her a debt. She is the one that told me about my sister’s death. She is under my protection and she has a wand. Even with my prolonged absences, she will live. She seems clever.”

Harry frowned. “You have to save her. We have to save her.”

Voldemort’s hands brushed up Harry’s thighs, settling on his waist. Harry froze in the man’s hold and he settled flexing fingers on Voldemort’s shoulders, looking down at the man.

“We will. I have ideas in mind, that will make the move to Westeron inevitable and necessary. One of these ideas includes the foiling of the King’s wedding,” Voldemort said, sharply, rubbing his thumbs against Harry’s waist, the thin cloth of Harry’s tunic doing nothing to shield Harry from the heat of the Dark Lord’s hands.

“What do you have to teach me?” Harry breathed, biting his lower lip.

Voldemort’s eyes tracked the way Harry’s teeth dug into his bottom lip, making it redder and plumper.

“Diplomacy, sweetling,” Voldemort murmured. “Allies and gold are the most important tools in war. I won my war by having the support of many great Houses through my Death Eaters.”

“And whom would you have me ally with first? I know nothing about other countries. I don’t have anything to offer but my body and, trust me, I’m not going to fuck my way into a throne,” Harry said pointedly and Voldemort threw back his head, a startled laugh escaping his lips.

“You’re quite funny, you know. In an idiotic way,” Voldemort said. Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. “I know that you have nothing to offer. But, I do. I have knowledge and power.”

Harry felt both relieved and irritated with Voldemort’s hands dropped from his waist and he reached into his cloak, pulling forth a book. Harry crossed his arms.

“Conjure a chair for me, please. I don’t know how yet,” Harry said. Voldemort rolled his eyes and waved his wand, Conjuring another simple chair. Harry fell into it, smiling at the softness of the cushion. Harry was in awe by the casual display of magic. Magic would never cease to be wondrous to him. Magic had always been destructive when he had seen it. But, it had the potential to be something so beautiful, something to be cherished.

 He leaned over the chair arm, staring at the book in Voldemort’s hands.

“This book is log of information on everyone and anyone. And here...is the country that we shall ally ourselves with first. Alfheim,” Voldemort said.

Harry took a moment to admire Voldemort’s penmanship. It was art, compared to Harry’s disgusting scrawl. McGonagall tried to make him practice but, rarely did she have the time to enforce such lessons. There were more important things that Harry liked to do--spend time with Freia, train with Ron, or read and talk about Albion’s history with Tonks.

“He was turned into a _beast_? By _who_? Who _does_ that?” Harry squwaked.

“A very beautiful enchantress, last I heard. No one speaks her name. She’s a bit of a mystery though, it seems she had the oddest ideas. Beauty from within. He was a vile little boy who turned her away from the door because she like pretend that she was ugly. Of course, no one particularly _cares_ for ugly people. Especially, a boy-king just like Draco. Except, the brat was worse. He was only twelve.”

Harry scoffed. “That sounds familiar.”

Voldemort ignored him.

“I quite wonder what she looks like. Not as stunning as you, I’m sure, but quite beautiful. I only lay with pretty things you know and the pretty ones always have something to prove in bed,” Voldemort drawled, only to tease and barb at Harry. Harry’s lip curled.

“Ew.”

Voldemort snorted.

“He has recently been changed back to a human. He found _love_ on his twenty-second birthday,” Voldemort said, scoffing at the idea. Harry huffed. “It is not commonly known that the prince was a beast. To have a transformed beast as a prince would be unseemly to the kingdom and the world, at large, especially as their closest trading ally is the Gaul Republic. The Republic is quite unsafe for creatures. Now, Alfheim is a warrior country. They train their children from birth and nearly all are warriors. You must reach him before the idea occurs to Narcissa.”

Harry frowned. “You mean for me to blackmail a king into helping me?”

“Blackmail and offer help. Alfheim and Albion have never been stable allies. If they help you take the throne, you will promise to help bring order to Alfheim. It hasn’t exactly flourished due to the prince’s...furry imprisonment,” Voldemort said, snickering at the Alfheimean prince’s expense.

“And how would I reach him?” Harry snapped.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “A _letter._ ”

* * *

 

**IS**

* * *

 

“Your Highness. The post has come.”

Prince Cedric looked up from where his sweet wife had been reading to him. He frowned at one of his Adored Ones. Hannah Abbott’s brow was furrowed as she came forward with the letter in hand. Cedric looked at his sweet Cho whom looked rather affronted that she had been interrupted in her reading of the old fairytales of Gaul. Cedric sighed.

“If you would leave it in my office as you _normally_ do…” Cedric said, kindly, with just a hint of reprimanding in his voice. He frowned when Hannah didn’t even looked embarrassed by his chastisement.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, your Highness. There is a seal--the seal of Gryffindor. It’s from Albion,” Hannah said.

There was silence and Cedric’s eyes widened at the implications of Hannah’s words. He glanced at Cho. She was staring in confusion, unsure. She had not been raised in politics. Of course she would not understand. Cedric stood immediately and he crossed the room, taking the letter from Hannah’s hand. He turned it over and looked at the seal.

The rearing lion roared back at him. Royal seals were tricky things, belonging only to their Houses and sealed with blood. Cedric swallowed and tore the letter open, careful not to damage the precious parchment, and information, inside.

 

_To His Highness, Prince Cedric of Alfheim,_

_In your time of self-imposed exile, I am quite sure that you have heard about what has been occurring in Albion for the past decade. There has been a brewing civil war that will soon be coming to a head. You must know by now that Queen Bellatrix is dead. However, you do not know that King Draco is in power due to Narcissa’s murder of her own sister, all done in a play for power._

_The problem remaining is that where Bellatrix was unstable, and thus manageable, Narcissa is cunning and controlled. Currently, we do not have the proper resources to go against Narcissa’s scheming and her son’s men, head on. This is why we come to you and ask for aid in this civil war so that I may assume my rightful place on a throne that was stolen from my family by time._

_Your air would turn the tide of this war in my favor. The relationship between our two countries, has never been strong, and has altogether deteriorated due to your_ beastly _condition. With your assistance and allyship, we would strengthen and tie our countries together through the bands of war, battle, and brotherhood--three important tenets of your society. Please, come to my side with men and supplies. We do not only support a war here but, refugees--innocent men, women, and children--that could go hungry as the war rages on._

_I thank you for your attention, as does my Chancellor. Once we receive your answer, we shall proceed on to meetings about negotiating terms._

_Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of his Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm and Fairest of Them All_

_Lord Voldemort of House Slytherin, Chancellor of the Albion Empire, Warden in the North_

Cedric choked on his saliva as he passed the note to Cho. He watched as she read it quickly. She looked up at him only thirty seconds later, her eyes wide. She shook her head, fiercely, her black hair swirling round her head, falling in her mouth in her haste.

“No. No, no, no,” Cho chanted.

Cedric swallowed. “Cho, this isn’t only about me. This is signed by this ‘Harry Wildfyre’ and _Voldemort_. Voldemort has switched sides in this war. If he calls to you, you don’t _ignore_ him.They know about my condition. No one else knew except the Adored Ones and they would fall on their swords for me. This King knows and is willing to exploit their knowledge for my aid in their war,” Cedric pointed out. Cho’s eyes welled with tears.

“No, Ced! No! This isn’t your war. We’ve only just gotten married. No war, Cedric. Please,” Cho pleaded, grabbing his hands. Cedric gently tugged his hands away and shook his head. He turned to Hannah. She was as dutiful and firm as always.

“Summon the General, Hannah. I must have words with her. She must know that we go to war,” Cedric said, softly and Cho let out a shriek that would have been deafening if he were still a beast. She let out a heart-wrenching sob.

“Cedric, I can’t lose you again,” Cho whispered and Cedric nodded at a hesitant Hannah before turning back to his wife. He sat down on the chaise with her, tugging her into his side.

He began to kiss her tears away and she looked up at him with eyes full of sad furry. He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. She didn’t return it. Cedric sighed.

“Cho, my love, I am a warrior prince. War is what I was raised for and, I cannot afford to be a poor ruler. Albion is a wealthy country indeed and we are not. The war in Albion has caused unrest within other countries. It’s not only about them anymore. It’s about the world. It is my duty to our people to do something,” Cedric said, softly and Cho sniffled rubbing the snot away from her nose on the wrist of her dress. “After I speak to the General, and fashion out a reply, I would really wish if you would consider going to Albion with me.”

Cho looked up at him, outraged.

“Like if you could without me! Who would read fairy stories to you when you’re stressed?” Cho demanded.

Cedric only laughed.

* * *

 

**FAIREST**

* * *

 

Gabrielle looked up at her sister and she couldn’t deny how utterly beautiful Fleur was, even with her long silver hair wrapped in sheer black silk. Wisps of hair showed around her face, giving her a glow. The long black gown was conservative, buttoned up to her neck with golden epaulets and military buttons but, even still. Gabrielle recognized the earrings dangling from her ears. Their mother’s, just like the cord that Gabrielle wore around her own neck.

It was a simple chord that led down into her modest cleavage. Gabrielle ignored their stares. Not all were disdainful. Some were lustful, others judgmental. But, she didn’t care for any of them. Her eyes searched for the man that had requested her company. She smoothed her dove grey skirts and tilted her head in curiosity when a handsome young man caught her eye.

He was in a group of other young men, all with glasses of wine, tucked into beautiful robes and doublets, though none so beautiful as the garments that Fleur crafted. The young man was staring at Gabrielle with more than a passing interest and he murmured to his friends who all watched the Delacour sisters. Fleur laughed.

“Is that him? He’s quite handsome,” Fleur teased under her breath. “Though, I like my men with a more roguish air. Nothing so dapper.”

“Shut up, Fleur. No. That isn’t him,” Gabrielle grumbled as she looked at the young man again.

Gabrielle sighed. The young man’s attention was lost. Fleur shrugged at her sister’s grievances and jerked, straightening. A tall, lavishly dressed woman approached the pair. She was tall, too tall to be human, yet she was obviously amongst the wealthy.

“Hello young ones,” the woman greeted.

“Hello,” the Delacour sisters said in greeting.

“I am the Duchess Olympe Maxime. I couldn’t help but notice that I do not recognize either of you,” the woman said, quite grandly, sweeping a large hand over the room. “I do wonder how you came to find yourselves here without any obvious invitation.”

There was a hint of distaste in her voice. Gabrielle flushed even as Fleur looked up at the woman, perfectly secure. People were staring again, curious and irritated and excited. Gabrielle could see Brigitte Godard in the middle of a clash of girls, gossiping. She was probably telling them all that Fleur and Gabrielle were her dressmakers that fancied themselves ‘above their station’. Fleur snorted in disdain even as Gabrielle trembled against her side in humiliation.

It was fine. Fleur would be proud enough for both of them.

“Don’t you worry about them, Olympe. They’re my honored guests.”

The growling voice sent shivers down Fleur’s spine. As she got a proper look at the speaker, her eyes widened in horror.

Fenrir Greyback was a broad-shouldered man with a feral smile, lips pulled back over sharp, yellowing teeth. His dark hair was slicked back but, Fleur could see a thick streak of grey. He was dressed in fine clothing, silver robes and well-made leather trousers and a finely weaved tunic, but that didn’t hide the animalistic fever in his amber eyes. She could see it in the way he looked at her _little sister_.

The Delacour sisters were the prey and this man was the predator.

“Mr. Greyback!” Gabrielle said, cheerfully.

“Ah, Miss Gabrielle, I thank you for allowing me the pleasure of your company this evening,” Greyback said, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Gabrielle laughed.

“I thought I told you. Just Gabrielle.”

“Well, my apologies, _just_ Gabrielle, but I thought I told _you_. It’s Fenrir. Not so hard to say,” Greyback said, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Fenrir,” Gabrielle repeated, her voice breathy as her lips wrapped around the name. Fleur nearly trembled in horror. “Fenrir, this is my older sister, Fleur.”

Fleur moved, her expression severe. She met Greyback’s fearsome eyes.

“Mr. Greyback,” Fleur said, coldly.

Fenrir nodded. “A pleasure, Miss Delacour,” he said before turning back to Gabrielle. “Will you dance with me, pretty girl?”

Fleur blanched at the pet name and her fists clenched as Gabrielle nodded. She watched the man escort her little sister to the dance floor. Fleur melted away, removing herself from the watchful eyes of the Ball attendants. Greyback waltzed her sister across the floor, dipping her and twirling her. Gabrielle threw back her head and laughed. Fleur felt like weeping.

Gabrielle had always had her head in too many books, just like Hermione. Unlike Hermione, she wasn’t jaded by circumstances nor did she really have the best head on her.

“He is quite taken with her, it seems.” Brigitte Godard’s nasal voice snaked its way into Fleur’s ear. Fleur stiffened. She was surrounded by her best customer and her sycophants. “I hadn’t believed it but, I suppose it’s true. He _did_ invite you both.”

“Mr. Greyback is such an... _interesting_ man,” another girl said.

They broke into titters and Fleur raised her chin.

“How do you mean?” she drawled.

Greyback had pulled Gabrielle close, was whispering in her ear and she was laughing, nodding excitedly, her lips shaping around her words. Fleur wondered what they spoke about. Albion? That’s what made Gabrielle the most excited.

“Mr. Greyback has been married six times, Miss Delacour,” Brigitte murmured from behind her fan. She leaned in and her sycophants followed her lead. “And after every marriage, six months later, his wife falls ill and dies.”

Fleur stiffened.

“Potions? Poisons?” Fleur demanded.

“Oh, nothing like that. They honestly fall ill,” a slight blonde girl said, earnestly. “It’s such a shame. Mr. Greyback deserves happiness, doesn’t he? And he looks far happier with her than he did with anyone else. What’s her name again?”

“Gabrielle,” Fleur whispered, her voice trembling as the dance came to an end, and Greyback stepped back, bowing to Gabrielle.

Fleur prayed that Gabrielle would come back to her. It wouldn’t be proper for her to dance with him another time in a row.

And yet, Greyback offered his hand again and Gabrielle took it.

* * *

 

**OF**

* * *

 

“Your Grace!” Hermione yelped, swallowing hard.

She turned around, clapping her hands to her face. She couldn’t unsee it. Pansy’s naked body, lounging on Draco’s bedspread. Draco’s cock in her hand as she slowly jerked him, smearing oil and ejaculate up and down his shaft. He was larger than Hermione had expected. It did not bode well for her. She shivered.

“Your Grace, I thought you Summoned me,” Hermione rasped.

Pansy let out a shrieking laugh that was silenced by the sticky sounds of kissing. Hermione felt a chill run up her spine as she heard the sucking and spit.

“I did. Turn around, my love,” Draco drawled. Hermione turned back around, keeping her eyes trained to the ground. Draco hummed. “Come now, you must have seen a cock before. Soon, this cock will put a child in you.”

“Your Grace, is there something I can assist you with?” Hermione rasped. She was trembling. She imagined that Draco and Pansy thought she was trembling out of fear.

Instead, she shook with rage.

“Look at me!” Draco roared.

Hermione looked up, sharply. Pansy was in his lap now, slowly sliding up and down his cock, soft little moans escaping her parted lips. The Lady Parkinson was glancing over her shoulder, her thin lips pulled into a smug smile. Hermione kept her face still as stone.

“How long must I look?” Hermione asked.

“Ugh...as long as it pleases me,” Draco said, punctuating his words with thrusts. Pansy’s back arched and let out a cry, moaning and nipping at Draco’s neck. Draco groaned and pushed Pansy off his body. She laughed, rolling onto her back, panting softly as she brought her fingers between her fold. Hermione’s lips twitched into a sneer.

Draco continued to pull and twist at his cock, staring darkly at Hermione.

“Your Grace, is there a reason you summoned me?” Hermione asked.

“I’d like to tell you about the battle. Sit. And watch,” Draco said and he arched his back, letting out a low groan. “Pansy, here.”

Pansy rolled over onto her stomach and crawled forward, running her tongue up Draco’s cock, wrapping her lips around the head. Hermione swallowed hard, stiffening against her humiliation. She felt her wand against the wand. If only she knew the Killing Curse.

“Your Grace,” Hermione said as she sat and watched Lady Parkinson suck her betrothed’s cock.

Draco groaned. “He burned them all. The Fairest. Burned my men. Burned the village. He was beautiful, Lady Granger. Beautiful,” he said. Hermione lurched. It was the first time that he had said her name in such a long time. “White skin, the color of snow. Red lips, the color of blood...red is my favorite color, you know. Ebony hair, the color of night. Bright eyes, the color of emeralds. The Fairest of Them All...a rightfully deserved title.”

Hermione stopped herself from flinching as Draco thrust up into Pansy’s mouth and the girl gagged on it. Draco moaned, quietly to himself.

“Such a beautiful...beautiful man. I imagined him in my bed. Tied up. Blood streaking his porcelain skin. Welts the shape of my hand on his ass, his thighs. I would have him die in my bed, slick with blood and my cum,” Draco said softly.

“Is that so, your Grace?” Hermione asked coldly.

Draco groaned as he grabbed Pansy by her hair and pulled her off. He jerked his cock once, twice and splattered his cum on Pansy’s face. Pansy threw her head back and laughed.

“Thank you...your Grace,” she purred.

Draco laughed.

“But, it isn’t fair that only I see his beauty. I’ll tell you what. I’ll tell you your wedding present,” Draco said, leaning forward with unnaturally bright grey eyes. “After I raise my armies, and kill the Pretender, the Fairest, I’m going to serve his head to you on a dinner plate.”

Hermione couldn’t help her next words.

“Or maybe he’ll give me yours,” she rasped.

Pansy gasped, diving under the sheets. Draco jumped up immediately, pulling his wand and Hermione leaned back in her chair, waiting. She lifted her chin, challenging him. Draco paused, the end of his wand glowing red.

“I cannot bruise you or cut you. My Uncle will know,” Draco growled.

Hermione said nothing.

“Go. I will see you in court,” Draco snarled.

Hermione stood and turned on her heel, exiting. Her lips twitched into a smug smile.

So, this was what victory tasted like.

* * *

 

**THEM**

* * *

 

“Your Highnesses.”

Prince Cedric looked up at the battle-hardened general that leaned against his doorframe. She was calm, as per usual. She had been his rock of peace in the turmoil his life had been until Cho had come to him.

Cedric leaned back in his chair, crossing on leg over the other as General Amelia Bones entered the room. She pulled her white robes tighter to her, battling the chill of the room. Her robes spoke of her status as one of the most powerful warriors in all of Alfheim. White, for she never had to worry about her own blood staining them. Cedric could only remember his father as having white robes, when he had been alive.

“Madame-General,” Cedric greeted, calmly, his lips twitching into a smile. The older woman smiled back. She gave a short bow before she crossed the room and sat at the seat across from his.

Cho continued to stare out the window, her cloak wrapped tight around her.

“What is it that you need of me, your Highness? You are still doing...well?” Madame-General Bones asked, cordially. It had only been a year since he had returned to himself.

It had been...rough, in a word.

“I’m fine. Cho is fine,” Cedric said. Cho scoffed and Cedric flushed. “I come to you...with a request. Please, read this.”

He handed her the many-times over read piece of parchment. He watched anxious as Bones read the letter, once twice, then thrice. Her expression didn’t vary exactly but, with each read, she looked more and more serious. If that was possible. Just as Cedric couldn’t take the overbearing silence any longer, Madame Bones looked up from the parchment and placed it on the desk with a heavy side.

“We will go to their aide?” Madame Bones asked.

Cedric sighed.

“How can I not? They threaten me with secrets and violence and once this ‘Harry Wildfyre’ takes the throne, possible war. We cannot survive without trade from Albion nor can we survive a war,” Cedric said, softly and he cleared his throat. “It is in the best interest of the country.”

Madame Bones nodded in agreement and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“How are we even sure if it’s the true ‘Harry Wildfyre’ or whatever? Why must we be drawn into _his_ war?” Cho demanded angrily.

“Princess, a seal of Gryffindor may only be used by a Gryffindor as all royal seals,” Madame Bones said, patiently. “I understand your trepidation but, no one can find out about the Prince’s former state. Especially the Gaul Republic. We rely on them for trade of many important potions ingredients and we have only three wandmakers in all of the country. It’s important.”

Cho huffed, looking away.

“And...the Dark Lord Voldemort aids the Prince of Gryffindor. We cannot say _no_ to him,” Cedric said.

He had never had the displeasure of meeting the Dark Lord Voldemort but Madame Bones had, once upon a time. When she was young, she had met the Dark Lord and had duelled him. She had lost her white robes that day and had had to gain them back.

“He would end the Slytherins reign. We can spare three-quarters of the army. We have the ships. They aren’t war ships but we’ll land in Albion, all the same. I will lead them,” Madame Bones decided. Cedric ignored Cho’s sigh of relief. This woman was his teacher, his mentor, his friend, his advisor, and his adopted mother all in one.

“Amelia...I have never asked more than I am about to,” Cedric said, softly. Madame Bones frowned as Cedric took the circlet off the top of his head and placed it on the desk before him.

“Cedric?” Madame Bones asked, dropping titles and etiquette.

“I will go personally to negotiate our aid with the Prince of Gryffindor. That is my wish,” Cedric said, softly, and Madame Bones’ dark eyebrows furrowed into a frown.

“But...your bride...she is not ready to rule without you here…”

“I’ll be going with him,” Cho said, firmly. Cedric opened his mouth to argue. Cho gave him a look that made him fall silent. “We’ll take the Adored Ones and then we will send word back to you at the end of negotiations.”

Cedric nodded. “I ask _you_ to rule in my name, as Princess Regent. You have guided me through life when I had no other, when I was nothing but a beast. Will you do this for me?”

An overbearing silence filled the room and for the first time in Cedric’s life, he saw the woman overwhelmed with shock. Nothing shocked Amelia. She was like stone--too strong, too steady, too amazing to be shocked. Only shocking. Yet, this request had dumbfounded her.

“Your Highness...Cedric...I…”

“Please, Amelia.”

Madame-General Bones lifted her gloved hands and slowly pulled the soft leather away. She took up the circlet with strong, scarred fingers. She examined the gold with a frown, turning it this way and that. She looked into Cedric’s dark, pleading eyes and hummed.

She ran an army but, a country and an army were two very different things.

“Of course,” Amelia whispered and Cedric’s lips curled into a wide smile.

“Then, in my absence, I hereby declare you, as Her Royal Highness, Princess Regent Amelia of House Bones.”

* * *

 

**ALL?**

* * *

 

Blaise was a patient man. He considered it one of his best traits. He was a patient man and cautious, and handsome. His looks made people underestimate him. The fact that he was foreign made people underestimate him. After all, Severus Snape had underestimated him and now, Blaise had taken his place as the Lord of Whispers on King Draco’s Council.

Blaise could be patient.

He waited, silently, as Draco played his lute, his eyes closed and neck bent. The King played beautiful, long fingers plucking and jerking at the strings. Blaise wondered if anyone had heard the King’s voice as he sang old tales. They were all songs that Blaise had never heard, tales of Founders and Tabooed and battle and blood.

Draco paused as he struck a sour note.

“Your Grace?” Blaise asked.

Draco took a deep breath through his nose. He looked to the council table, the flat map of Albion sitting in the curve of the crescent-shaped table. The seal of the Aurors were tipped over where Little Hangleton had been.

“Gregory Goyle was a childhood friend. I didn’t have many friends as a child,” Draco said, slowly. “My mother was careful about my friends. She didn’t want people taking advantage. I’ve always known that I’d be King. I had Greg and Lord Vincent of House Crabbe, and Lady Pansy.”

“And you lost him. One of your friends,” Blaise said, gently.

Draco began to play again, humming softly to himself. Blaise allowed Draco his silence. Blaise allowed Draco many things. He allowed him to think he had control over his empire. He allowed him to torment his stepsister. And how he relished in that smug know-it-all bitch to be taken down a peg.

As if she were above Blaise and his mother, morally correct and full of rage, tossing blame here and there and everywhere. As if Blaise hadn’t suffered, watching his fathers die one after another, consumed by their mother’s greed, for Lady Zabini was both their mother. Hermione could pretend all she wanted but, she was just _like_ their mother.

“Sometimes, I wish I was but a child again. What an ugly, ugly throne, Blaise,” Draco whispered and he cleared his throat, closing his eyes. Still, he played. “Did you think him beautiful?”

Blaise frowned. The Fairest.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone uglier. Full of fire and fury and power that was not Blaise’s. A fair face but all that power and no idea how to harness it.How terribly _ugly_.

“Yes, your Grace.”

How ugly. The way fire turned the world to ashes. Bright green eyes full of fury. How he had promised a war. Blaise had not signed up for a war. Not death. But, he would fight it.

“He promised me death. I am afraid to die,” Draco said. “I don’t want to die like Greg.”

Blaise hummed. “I won’t allow it, your Grace.”

The way the Pretender had buried his sword into Greg and ripped it out. A massacre. How fucking ugly. With his pretty lips and his bright green eyes, his pale skin striped with ash, his lithe body rippling with fury.

_I will burn your world to ashes. And then, you have my permission to die._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS! EARLY!
> 
> LAST CHAPTER OF THIS WEEK. EXPECT THE NEXT, NEXT WEDNESDAY OR THURSDAY.
> 
> Thank you, darlings for reading. Please kudos or comment!


	3. Chapter Three

“My sweet, we come bearing gifts!” Harry grunted as he stumbled into the paddock, his fingers buried in rough wool that scratched at his calloused fingers. Freia let out a greeting screech. Harry smiled widely at her.

Freia was larger now. At a month, she was the size of a large pony. After Harry had begun feeding her properly, then she had sprouted up, growing so fast that Harry could hardly believe it.

“She’s enormous,” Tonks observed with a grunt as they dragged the sheep carcass into the paddock.

Harry hummed with a tiny smile and he groaned when they finally let the enormous sheep go, letting it fall to the ground with a thump. He paused. “Why didn’t we use magic?” he rasped.

Tonks snorted.

"Because we're idiots, taste buds," Tonks said.

Harry let out a long laugh and he held out his wand. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.” He watched as the sheep corpse floated into the middle of the paddock before he directed it to lay just in front of Freia. Freia butted her head against it, making it roll over and she hissed.

Fawkes sat on the fence of the paddock, watching curiously. Harry was glad that Freia was still too young to really want to antagonize Fawkes. His mother’s phoenix lent comfort to him sometimes though, in all truth, Fawkes had been gone longer and longer each time he disappeared.

“Where’s my stupid uncle?” Tonks asked, curiously. “He hasn’t been back in some time.”

“He doesn’t come back unless he has something for me. That’s the rule,” Harry said, patiently, never taking his eyes off of Freia. His stomach fluttered as he thought about Voldemort-- _Tom._

“Why do you have a rule?” Tonks asked.

Harry didn't answer straight away. He always wanted to be honest with Tonks, and he needed to know the truth. In truth, the rules weren't for Tom. The rulers were for himself. Harry needed rules now. Good men didn't need rules and Harry had learned that he wasn't a good man. Good men didn't win thrones. Good men died and Harry was not in the business of dying. He wouldn't lose himself to his emotions and his wants. Merlin, he still wanted. Harry _wanted_.

“Because I want to kiss him,” Harry murmured as they watched Freia moved around the carcass, inspecting with little flicks of her tongue. She was sniffing at it, wondering why it was raw, most probably. Harry cleared his throat, slowly looking at Tonks.

She looked thoughtful, not angry like he'd been afraid of.

“Do you know why?” Tonks asked, her voice soft.

Harry swallowed. “No...he’s not a nice man. But, I am greedy, Tonks.”

“You aren’t,” Tonks defended, firmly, taking a step closer to his side. She bumped her shoulder against his and he bumped back, a slight smile on his face.

“I am. I asked him to fuck me again. He said no. Said he wouldn’t until I wanted him,” Harry said and cleared his throat as Tonks looked at him in surprise.

“He said _no_?” Tonks demanded. She paused. “Voldemort is greedy and he said _no_.”

“He said no,” Harry said, softly. “Tom is...a complicated man.”

“What do you call him?” Tonks barked.

“His name,” Harry said firmly. He looked at Tonks in such a way that Tonks didn’t push it, only nodding. She looked back towards Freia, curiously. Harry cleared his throat and took a step forward. “Freia.”

Freia looked up, sharply, her eyes trained on him.

“ _Füir,_ ” Harry said, lifting up his hand and calling the fire. “Tonks cast the Fire-making Spell, please.”

Tonks pulled her wand, wordlessly casting _Incendio_.

Freia shrieked at the flames. Harry hummed.

“ _Füir,_ Freia. _Füir_ ,” he said, calmly.

Freia let out a long plume of smoke, spitting angrily. Harry nodded, smiling encouragingly. Freia looked up at him, her eyes trained on the flames. She let out a great huff, and a plume of fire erupted. The sheep caught on fire, the wool exploding into flames. Harry clapped, wildly.

“Yes! Just like that!” Harry laughed.

The smell of cooked meat made his mouth water. Freia's head darted forward, and her large glistening teeth tore into the corpse greedily.

“She’ll be able to feed herself. Cook her food,” Tonks said, approvingly as she extinguished her flames, watching happily as Freia ate.

“Yes. She must know fire. Like I do,” Harry said and he slowly approached Freia. Freia looked up, shrieking madly before pausing and coiling back when she saw it was only Harry.

Harry brushed his fingers against Freia’s side, kissing the scales around her eye, ignoring the blood dripping from her maw, the strings of flesh caught between her teeth. Tonks watched, vaguely impressed.

“You love her. Like she is your child. Like I love Teddy,” Tonks said.

Harry nodded. “Of course, I do,” Harry whispered, pulling back. Freia shrieked again, her head tilted to the sky and Harry frowned, looking up.

Tonks’ eyes tracked the fast flying birds. “Falcon,” she called.

Harry watched as the falcon dove straight for the paddock, and landed on his outstretched arm, long talons digging into the soft leather of his jacket. Harry frowned as he took the parchment tied to the bird’s leg. The falcon eyed Freia dangerously as Freia crept forward, curious.

“ _Dar_ , Freia,” Harry snapped, as he opened the letter. The falcon screeched and took off from his shoulder, avoiding Freia’s snapping teeth. Harry grunted when Freia’s heavy head collided with his shoulder. He staggered back, nearly thrown off his feet.

“Harry!” Tonks called, darting forward.

“Freia,” Harry barked, staring at the dragon. Freia shrieked at him and pulled back, going back to her food again. Harry sighed, shaking his head. “And like a child, she must be disciplined.”

Tonks laughed, uneasily, as Harry opened the letter, his eyes going over the finely curved letters on the parchment. “What...who is it from?”

Harry passed her the envelope without look up from the letter. Tonks turned it over and her eyes widened on the seal from Alfheim.

“You are looking to ally with Alfheim? A good choice. They are _strong_ warriors. Their entire government is based upon who is the strongest," Tonks said, looking at him with approval in her eyes. Harry looked up, a flush on his cheeks.

“Er...it was Tom’s idea. I’m just...I have no idea what I’m doing,” Harry confessed, laughing nervously. Tonks snorted.

“You give off the impression that you do,” Tonks said.

“I’m a reckless idiot. You Slytherins are the brains of everything I do,” Harry insisted.

Tonks shook her head. “You underestimate yourself, your Grace.”

“Tonks. Really? ‘Your Grace’?” Harry sighed, shaking his head. Tonks grinned at him, wolfishly. Harry sighed and looked at Tonks. “I _really_ wish your uncle was here now. Prince Cedric has responded. He intends to come with his personal guard to negotiate before he promises anything to me. He can’t land in Karnaron. The coasts are all watched and we’re too far inland.”

“A Portkey?” Tonks suggested.

“It’s too risky. It could be intercepted. The magical trace is so strong even a child could sense it. _I_ would sense it,” Harry said, pointedly and he stowed the letter inside of his jacket. “We need a place to treat.”

Tonks bit her bottom lip.

“I think I know why Voldemort wants my mother to bend the knee to you,” Tonks said, slowly.

“Because Afallon is the biggest country in the empire?” Harry suggested.

Tonks hummed. “Not only that….Westeron, the stronghold, is on the Western coast. Right across the ocean from Alfheim.” 

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

“ _EXPELLIARMUS!_ ” Harry countered. He spun away, dodging the bright green light with laughter. The world was on fire, the flames twisting and turning to his will. The windmill burned in the background, casting his face into something otherworldly.

“Finish him!” Ginny roared.

Harry hissed in agreement and plunged his sword into the soldier’s belly and ripped it out, disemboweling him. Blood splattered across his cheeks and Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing heavily as he looked around.

The outpost was nothing but flames and stone. Soon, it would be nothing but ashes. The slain men littered the ground like toy soldiers, the kind of toys that Harry had always seen Dudley play at. Harry had never had any toys himself.

“Is it over?” Harry asked.

Ron groaned, swinging his war hammer over his head and bringing it down. A soldier’s head cracked open with a soft pop, and brain matter and blood oozed out like an egg yolk. Harry turned away from it, willing the bile turning in his belly to still. It was fine. He would be fine.

“Almost,” Ron said, reaching into his jerkin. He pulled out a balled up red cloth. He flipped his wrists, loosening the ball.

Harry’s mouth went dry. He stared at the golden lion, rearing on its hind paws. The crimson fabric, red like how he imagined his mother’s hair was. Harry reached out, running his hand over the crest of House Gryffindor.

“Let the world know,” Ron urged.

Harry looked over at Ginny. Her eyes were hard. Harry turned away and lifted his wand. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," he murmured, levitating the banner to the burning ruins of the windmill. With his other hand, he called the flames away, and they drifted around him, enveloping him as if he were an old friend. " _Epoximise_.”

The Sticking Charm held and the banner waved against the burnt husk of the wall.

“They will know that we came. That we conquered!” Harry roared, throwing a fist into the air.

His soldiers roared back.

Harry was still in his triumph, his lips pulled into a wide grin. _Victory_.

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

“Welcome Lord Crouch to the king’s council,” Narcissa said as she entered the Council Tower, arm in arm with Lord Bartemius Crouch.

Voldemort had never cared for Lord Crouch. He was short and dismissive and underestimated his son far too much. And he had staunch morals that conflicted quite strong with Voldemort’s. It was never a good day when Lord Crouch and the Dark Lord Voldemort were in close quarters. This was one of those days.

“Narcissa,” Voldemort said. It was all that needed to be said. He never had to ask questions of her. She’d explain herself.

“Lord Crouch has been added to the Council in the position of Master of Wisdom,” Narcissa said, coolly before she turned back to Lord Crouch, smiling softly at him as she guided him to the seat at the end of the table.

“I...see,” Voldemort drawled. “Very well.”

Enemies abound.

“I call this council meeting to order,” Draco said, firmly. He leaned forward, looking around the table, and then he paused when he stared at Dolohov. “I’ve called this meeting because Lord Dolohov has approached me with a plan to gain a better handle on the Pretender situation. We will not have this boy, that claims to be the Prince of Gryffindor, question our reign.”

Voldemort paused. Draco was using the royal ‘wegray It was reminiscent of his dead sister. A sister that he tried not to think about.

Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose as Dolohov began his long convoluted military plan. The more he talked, the more Voldemort’s headache grew between his eyes. It all sounded like expense and excess. Coin and more coin that they did not have. Coin that could, theoretically, be borrowed from Gringotts but, Voldemort had plans for the goblins and they did not involve his brat of a nephew.

The council meeting was made even worse as Dolohov began speaking on the ‘growing responsibilities of generals’ and their ‘insight on governing issues’. A weak play for power. Voldemort wondered what had made him mark Dolohov as his own. It was ridiculous. It was all so--

“Shut up, Antonin. You sound ridiculous.”

The man fell silent immediately. Voldemort looked around the table, at all of the unfamiliar, untrustworthy faces. Crabbe. MacNair. Nott. Zabini. And his sister. Narcissa. Draco stared back at him, wrapped in furs with dark circles under his eyes. That air of grimness, from that night, still hadn't disappeared. Voldemort didn't think they ever would.

“Why did you stop him?” Narcissa asked, sharply. Voldemort looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Employing three-quarters of our forces South based on a _hunch_ is a stupid idea. You put too much faith and power in him, sister. He imagines a stratocracy. We are a monarchy,” Voldemort retorted.

Narcissa _scoffed_. “A monarchy that is failing due to poor ruling. Change is imminent,” Narcissa said, coldly.

“My Lord, a stratocracy is not advisable but--” Dolohov started, attempting to appeal to his formed Lord. The Dark Lord rolled his eyes.

“What say you, Lord Crouch? As Master of Wisdom, do you think this is financially feasible?” Voldemort demanded.

"We're a wealthy country indeed, but we don't have a war fund yet for such an endeavor. I've read the previous tax proposal. With a few tweaks, this could be a major piece of legislation that could turn the tide of this war before it truly begins," Lord Crouch said.

Voldemort scoffed, shaking his head. “The war has already _begun_. The Pretender burned down a village.”

Draco still hadn’t said a word, his eyes tracking each Lord, as if he were truly listening to their council. That didn’t bode well for Voldemort.

“The war has begun. So have our plans,” Narcissa said, shortly.

Draco slowly sat up in his chair, looking around the table. “From the time before our predecessors, our foreign policy has been weak,” Draco began. “The Tabooed, the Founders, and my Aunt Bellatrix. All so concerned with domestic issues when the world grows larger every day. I have found a way to further our allyship with the Gaul Republic.”

He sounded like a king. He sounded careful. And unpracticed. Narcissa looked at her son, gleefully pleased. Voldemort cleared his throat, watching the boy carefully. Perhaps, he was a snake after all. In another life, Voldemort might’ve been _proud._

“We’re in the middle of a civil war. There is no greater time for allies. The Gaul Republic has long had a sense of hesitation due to the way we let our creatures roam freely. No more,” Draco said, firmly. “While my uncle was away, I began a project that has reached the final stages of testing. We have many soldiers. Soldiers are expensive. They must be fed, clothed, and paid. Slaves need only food and armor. I have captured several colonies of creatures and they have been trained as soldiers. Those that do not serve are sold domestically and internationally, generating enough income for a war fund and supplements the economy in a way that hasn’t been seen since the Founders.”

There were Narcissa's words, wormed in there. So, it had been Draco's plan but Narcissa's fingerprints were all over, carefully sculpting it into the masterpiece that it was, carefully worded to generate agreement.

“You would sell _people_? Slaves?” Voldemort hissed, dangerously.

“Oh, so evil has standards, brother?” Narcissa retorted.

Voldemort’s eyes flashed. “You would call me ‘evil’, _sister_?” Voldemort snarled.

“I think it is evil to veto ideas that benefit an empire that will slowly starve due to the fact that we’re in the middle of a damn civil war!” Narcissa roared, slamming her hands on the table. And just like that, diamond shattered in the inferno. “We have people. Wizarding _humans_ that are dying at the hands of that little bitch with fire. Have you nothing about them? Their families?”

Voldemort felt her fury. It made his lips curl into a mocking smile. How Slytherin of her, citing families and magic and pride as if she gave a damn about anything but the power of the Gilded Throne. The Throne that had _nearly_ been hers.

“And how do you propose we end it? How do you propose that we fix this, Narcissa?” Voldemort snarled.

Narcissa sneered. “With _blood._ ”

* * *

**ON**

* * *

 

Daphne and Hermione walked along the orchards, arm-in-arm, staring up at the low-hanging fruits, amongst the servants that were picking apples and lemons for the desserts.

“Have you been invited to court yet, Lady Greengrass?” Hermione asked, softly. She refused to sound too desperate, too eager, even if Daphne’s presence would make everything a little less unbearable. Hermione could barely look at Pansy without remembering what her mouth looked like, wrapped around Draco’s cock.

“Not yet. I expect soon. The King and his family so do like to humiliate the Longbottoms,” Daphne said, her voice so purposely light that Hermione nearly missed the hidden barb in her voice.

“How do you mean?” Hermione asked, gently.

Daphne looked at Hermione from the corner of her eye, regarding her with a hint of suspicion. Hermione stared back at her, lifting her chin. Daphne cleared her throat.

“Neville was raised by Grandmother,” Daphne said, gently. “His parents, his grandfather, his uncles and aunts, and cousins were...murdered. By House Crouch, under Narcissa’s orders. The great House Longbottom is nearly extinct.”

Hermione’s hand flew towards her mouth as she tried to smother her gasp.

“How... _why_?” Hermione blurted out.

Daphne hummed. “I forget that you are not of Albion. Neither am I,” Daphne said, her voice soft. She cleared her throat and looked up. “When the Slytherins first came to power, there was unrest. I became the late Lord Longbottom’s ward during the unrest. There were those resistant to the Slytherins, seeing them as usurpers from the rightful Queen-Empress, the late Lily Gryffindor. House Longbottom was a house of resistance.”

Hermione nodded, processing the information. She glanced over her shoulder. Luna waited, patiently, at the edges of the orchards. Her eyes were trained on the Death Eaters, watching Lord Lestrange drill them, Lord Voldemort standing next to him with a cold look on his face. Hermione tore her eyes away, looking back at Daphne.

"Then...how did they...die?" Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She could hear the wind howling against the barrier. The sky was blue just above Hogwarts but, outside, the clouds were gray. Winter was here.

“Lord and Lady Longbottom believed that Lily Gryffindor had a successor and they rebelled against Narcissa, rallying their vassals. House Crouch was one of their vassals. During the feast, while Lord Longbottom gave a rallying cry, Bartemius Crouch stabbed him in the back and it began. They massacred them and when it was all over, the doors open, and there stood Narcissa Slytherin,” Daphne said, softly. She sounded so far away, her gaze glossed over.

Hermione shivered. She could imagine it. Narcissa with her cold blue eyes, wand in hand, sword in the other. The woman was _evil_. “Then?” Hermione whispered.

“Then, Narcissa Slytherin lifted her crossbow and shot Lady Longbottom through the throat. And she...tortured her into insanity. Neville and I...we _watched_ ," Daphne said, her voice cracking, and she turned her head away, shaking herself roughly. When she finally looked at Hermione again, her eyes were glossed over with unspilled tears. "And when Narcissa finally killed her, she turned to us, and Grandmother, and said, ‘They will write songs about this night. Don't cry, little fish. They will write songs about you, as they have written songs about me. Do not cry, little fish. Tears are blood, ill-spilled'."

Hermione swallowed her terror and Daphne stopped, leaning heavily against the trunk of a tree. Her eyes were hard as she looked up at Hogwarts Castle, a symbol of the people that had destroyed her family.

“Did they write songs?” Hermione asked.

Daphne laughed, long and hard. "Yes. at is why I don't want to go to court. I do not want to hear the songs. _‘They twirled round and round in rain or shine, Their magic was used to break will and spines’._ How horrifying,” Daphne hissed.

Hermione swallowed hard. “What song is that?” Hermione asked.

"It doesn't matter," Daphne said, shortly. She turned to Hermione, reaching for her hands and pulling her close enough that Hermione tilted her head back to focus on her face. "Do not speak of this, Hermione. I do not want you to be hurt. You are too kind for this family and one day, the people will rise against them. After all, Lord Longbottom was right, and there is a war going on, out there."

Daphne pointed past the gates and Hermione nodded as Daphne pulled away.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked Daphne stumbled backward.

“I am tired. Goodbye, Hermione,” Daphne said, warily. She paused and leaned forward, pecking Hermione on the lips before she twisted between the trees and walked away, her long skirts dragging behind her. Hermione blinked wildly.

“ _The Children_.”

Hermione shrieked, pulling her wand. Luna didn't react, her eyes crossing as she stared at the point of Hermione's wand. Hermione stowed her wand away, quickly, flushing as the Death Eaters turned to stare at her with disdain. Voldemort rolled his eyes and Rodolphus raised an eyebrow. Barty Crouch was laughing behind his hand, leaning into a stocky woman with sloping shoulders, red hair pulled back into a severe bun and blue-gray eyes. Hermione looked away, cheeks red.

"Alecto Carrow and Barty Crouch. Interesting," Luna said, dreamily. She turned her gaze back to Hermione, eyes sharp. "The song is called _The Children._ It is a prophecy. Sung by the bardess Celestina Warbeck.

_Blood is all, blood is none._

_And in Death, it shall be undone._

_But in a world where monsters reign_

_There is one that shall be their Bane_.”

Hermione stared at Luna for a long time, waiting for her to explain herself. But, this was Luna, and she never would. Instead, she stared back at Hermione, impassively, as if waiting for her to speak. Hermione cleared his throat, awkwardly and cracked her neck, sighing.

“She told me all of that for a reason. I think that House Longbottom isn’t here to play nice,” Hermione said, softly.

Luna hummed. “They are here to rebel?”

“Lady Augusta Longbottom seems like a woman with a long memory.”

“As are the Slytherins,” Luna said. She looked at Hermione, eyes wide with warning. “Be careful, Hermione Granger. There’s a war going on, out there.”

* * *

**THE WALL**

* * *

 

“What have you done, you stupid boy?” Voldemort hissed as he stormed into the meeting room

Harry sat at the head of the table, surrounded by his Council. He looked coolly at Voldemort. Voldemort took a moment to regard the sizeable dragon that sat to Harry’s side, Freia’s large head resting in Harry’s lap.

“I destroyed an outpost. An important outpost for Draco’s troops,” Harry said, plainly.

“An outpost that provides food for the villages _surrounding_ it. It was unnecessary to destroy it. You should've taken it. Conquered it," Voldemort said, sharply. He stared at Harry with narrowed eyes, shaking his head.

“I did. The banner of House Gryffindor waves,” Harry said, nearly innocent and he looked back at Freia who shrieked. She was nearly too large for the room.

Soon, Harry wouldn’t be able to use his dragon to intimidate.

“And so, the common people know that you know how to raze towers to the ground and destroy. Wonderful,” Voldemort said, mockingly.

“May I remind you, _Tom_ , we’re at war,” Harry spat.

The room froze. Madame McGonagall twitched at the Dark Lord’s trueborn name as the Weasleys looked to each other in confusion, too young to know the meaning behind the name. Voldemort regarded the Prince of Gryffindor for a long moment. Harry stared right back, refusing to back down.

"You are stubborn and bullheaded, and you will get everyone killed," Voldemort snarled.

Harry scoffed. “I’m not going to stand by and do nothing. I destroyed an outpost. Draco knows that I live to take his throne. He should be pissing his bed in fear.”

“You are meant to be a _better_ king than him!” Voldemort hissed.

“And what do you know about ‘better’ kings? You only make mad queens,” Harry bit out, aiming to hurt but, the Dark Lord didn’t even flinch.

“I am Kingmaker. Will I make a mad king too?” Voldemort drawled.

Harry hissed and Freia lifted her head, opening her mouth to screech. Tonks’ hand flashed out, clamping around Harry’s wrist. Harry took a deep breath and relaxed, running his hand over Freia’s thick neck, soothingly.

“You make _your_ King and, I did what I did. We’re at _war_ ,” Harry said, softly.

McGonagall cleared her throat, looking between the Dark Lord and Harry, wearily.

“I’m afraid, your Grace, I agree with the Dark Lord. You aren’t to inspire fear. But, hope. Yes, the people will rise for you. But, _only_ , if you show that you are different. And better,” McGonagall said, sounding distasteful in her agreement with the Dark Lord.

Harry looked at her for a long time, different emotions working across his face. He looked around at his council, Bill and Ginny’s eyes directed at the table top. Kingsley stared at him, impassively. Only Tonks stared at him, unabashed.

“Tonks?” Harry asked.

Tonks cleared her throat. “Uncle is right. We had no business conducting that raid. But, we did so, because we are yours to command,” Tonks said, shortly.

Harry’s cheek grew hot with blood. He looked down at Freia and cleared his throat before looking back up at Voldemort. Voldemort stared at him, triumphant. Harry’s stomach turned in humiliation and he looked away.

“Fine. I made a mistake,” Harry said, softly. “I apologize. I’m sorry.”

Voldemort hummed. “You should--”

“That’s enough,” Tonks barked. Voldemort turned a bloody gaze onto his niece. “That’s enough, uncle. He apologized. Next order of business.”

Voldemort snorted and shook his head. “Fine. The rite of passage, then.”

“What is that?” Harry asked, his voice soft.

“I had forgotten, somehow,” McGonagall said, her brow furrowed into a frown. She looked to the Dark Lord. Harry could almost forget how much she despised him. “Do you still have your companion?”

"Nagini shall die when I do," Voldemort said, his lips curled into a disgust. Dying still struck a nerve with him. Harry swallowed. He wondered if the man would search out immortality through other means. Voldemort looked at Harry. "You're the heir of Gryffindor. You must go through the rite of passage. You will receive a familiar. A constant companion. It is necessary to assume the throne."

“Draco has a familiar?” Harry asked, curiously.

Ginny scoffed. “No. The Dark Lord never meant for him to assume the throne. He never meant for _any_ of this to happen. If he had his way, Bellatrix would still be on the throne and they would feast on your heart,” Ginny spat, irritated.

Harry froze. Freia stilled under his hand. He had nothing to say to that. He looked at Voldemort. Voldemort was watching him, carefully, searching for his reaction. Harry swallowed his fury and his uncertainty.

“Perhaps,” he said, finally. He turned back to Voldemort and McGonagall. “What must I do?”

“I consumed the heart of a snake. I was the only one of my siblings to keep it down. For that, I received Nagini. My python that serves as my eyes and ears when I am away from Hogwarts,” Voldemort said, his voice cool and Harry leaned forward.

“And she is loyal?” Harry asked.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "I am the only one who can speak to her. _I speak Parseltongue._ ”

Harry swallowed as the low hisses filled his ears. The other council members shuddered from disgust. Freia shrieked as if she understood it. Harry squirmed, biting his lower lip as fire stirred in his lower belly. Voldemort's lips curled into a smirk as if he knew the kind of effect that he had on Harry. He probably did. Harry was an obvious fool.

“I see,” Harry rasped, leaning forward. Voldemort smirked wider, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“You will eat the heart of a lion, your Grace,” McGonagall said, interrupting them with a disapproving look. Harry flushed and then paled.

His stomach turned again, in revulsion this time. A lion’s heart. Big and raw and bloody.

“Oh.”

* * *

 

**WHO**

* * *

 

Narcissa couldn’t remember the last time someone had made the journey up the crumbling staircase. She knew that house elves must feed the three witches of the tower but, largely, they were meant to be forgotten. Voldemort had wanted them forgotten. The only ones that knew the fate of the Slytherins were locked away from harm.

Narcissa swallowed the bile that turned her stomach every time she thought of her brother. Her brother that seemed to be floating farther and farther away from her. How she could remember when she was just a girl, the way he would hug her tight, and swing her around, and _teach_ her. He had never wanted the throne for himself.

He had once said that Albion should be glad that have her rule. But, no. Her son ruled now. And he would be a good ruler, as long as she kept her hand firm.

Narcissa lifted her wand and waved it. The trap-door swung open and a ladder rolled down. Narcissa carefully pulled her skirts up around her waist and climbed up the ladder, emerging into a dinghy tower room. The floor was unclean, a firm layer of grime on the stone. But, it was warm and the fire roared. Narcissa paused as she watched Sybill Trelawney play in the ashes, whispering words to herself.

“ _Child of Fire...blood and snow and black as night...Wyrdfod,_ ” she babbled to herself.

Narcissa rolled her eyes at the nonsense words and she continued forward, stepping around the Seer. She paused at the back room and stared at the woman that sat furthest from the door, tucked into a corner, her blankets wrapped tight around her.

“Seer!” Narcissa barked.

Cassandra jerked out of her sleep and her eyes flashed open.

“Get out... _get out_ ," Cassandra Vlabatsky growled, her hair tangled around her pocked face. Narcissa didn't flinch, staring at the woman that had told her her fate so many years ago.

She didn't look much different, as if she had frozen in time, just like Voldemort. Her hair was still long and dark, tangled around her freckled and pocked face. Her lips were cracking but, it had always been her eyes that had created terror in Narcissa's dreams--when she could still dream, that is. Her eyes were big and wide. Her pupils were tiny pinpricks, swallowed whole by the gray, like the eye of a hurricane.

“Cassandra, don’t you recognize me?” Narcissa asked, her voice cold.

Cassandra straightened, looking at Narcissa long and hard. She hummed, leaning back in her chair again.

“Narcissa Godkiller,” she hissed. “Oh, don’t I remember you.”

“I’m sure,” Narcissa said, her lips pulling into a cool smile. She carefully watched Celestina Warbeck creep forward, peeking from behind the ratty curtains.

“ _‘They said you were terrifying. With cat’s teeth and three eyes. You’re not terrifying,’_ ” Celestina suddenly said and Narcissa winced. It was not Celestina’s voice but, Narcissa’s from years back. Narcissa’s voice when she was a child. “ ‘ _You’re boring’._ ”

“Stop it,” Narcissa barked.

Celestina shrieked and ducked back deeper into the North Tower. Cassandra laughed.

“You don’t know what I am,” Cassandra laughed. She held her hand out. Narcissa ignored it, pulling her skirts closer to her as she settled on the sofa, across from the woman. Cassandra leaned forward, her eyes glowing. “Would you like to know your future?”

“I can quote people too, Cassandra. ‘Everyone wants to know their future until they know their future’,” Narcissa drawled, spitting the words back at her.

“Aye, so you can. Why do you come to me, Narcissa Godkiller?” Cassandra drawled.

Narcissa frowned. “Tell me my future,” she commanded.

“It remains the same, Godkiller,” Cassandra said, her voice flat and Narcissa frowned, shaking her head.

“It can’t be. I don’t sit on the throne,” Narcissa snapped. “Tell it to me again.”

“You are not the Kingmaker but you shall make kings,” Cassandra hissed. She leaned forward, dragging her long black nails down Narcissa’s chin. “His crown is gold and his blood bleeds black. This you know.  You have cast down a queen as you have been told, the throne crushed through your fingers.”

And then she stopped, choking on the air and she trembled. Narcissa was still, watching the woman jerk in her chair, her eyes rolling around. She stopped again, breathing heavily, her pupils blown now.

“ _You will be queen for a time, just as the queen you cast down. Then, comes another. Younger. More beautiful to cast you down and to take all you hold dear_ ,” Cassandra spat and Narcissa trembled.

In a fury, she pulled out her wand and hissed, “ _Crucio_.”

Cassandra shrieked out laughter as she twisted and turned, her back arching in agony. Narcissa released her from the spell and snarled, “What do you _mean_?”

Beautiful. Hermione Granger was beautiful. Daphne Greengrass was beautiful. All around her, she was surrounded by beauty.

Cassandra laughed, cruelly.

“Oh, sweet Narcissa. You will kill a god, my sweet, but do you know how to kill a monster?”

* * *

 

**IS**

* * *

 

“He’s written to me again,” Gabrielle said, biting her lower lip, holding the parchment to her chest. Fleur stared up at her, grim, even as she stitched the hem of another dress. “He’s sent a book this time. It’s a book on the geography of Albion. How magical.”

“Isn’t it?” Fleur drawled.

If Gabrielle heard the tone of her sister's voice, she didn't acknowledge it. She spun around, reading the letter over and over again as if she were trying to memorize the way the ink curved.

“He’s...he’s invited me to his home, Fleur. To see his library. He has a topographical map of the known world. He understands how much I love to read. How much I want to know. He knows so much. He’s been _everywhere_. He’s told me about--” Gabrielle said, looking up at the ceiling, attempting to fight the smile that was working across her face.

“When has he told you anything? At the ball?” Fleur demanded.

“Well, yes,” Gabrielle stammered. “And...and in his letters. And he...he visited. Yesterday. He wasn’t a customer though. He just...brought me sweets. The kind from the ball that I enjoyed. You were busy in the back. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Well, you should’ve,” Fleur snapped. “I don’t want him here. I don’t want him in my shop.”

“Why?” Gabrielle demanded. “He’s kind to me. And he doesn’t...he doesn’t notice. The allure.”

“Are you sure?” Fleur laughed. It was brittle and hard, full of the rage of too-short childhoods and stolen friends. “Snatching a Veela up right before her time. What a _steal_.”

“Don’t say that. He’s a creature too. He won’t tell me which one but, he is. And he’s a nice man. You’ve always said you wanted me to marry a nice man,” Gabrielle said, coldly, clutching her letter to her chest.

Fleur paled and she cursed when she felt the point of her needle run along her finger, a long jagged cut there. It was shallow but the blood rushed. Fleur didn't even feel the pain. Her blood pounded in her ears.

“Marry? He’s...you’ve talked about marriage? You’re only 15!”

“Plenty of people get married at 15. And I’m turning 16. I won’t be old maid like _you_ , Fleur,” Gabrielle snapped.

“Gabrielle, have you talked about marriage?” Fleur repeated, her voice like steel.

“No,” Gabrielle hissed. “He’s kind to me though. He’s my friend. And I want to visit my friend. And I don’t need your permission. I don’t.”

“You _do_. Maman and Papa--”

“Maman and Papa are dead!” Gabrielle shouted. “They’ve been dead for years! Because of what they were! What we are! And, Fenrir could protect us. He _wants_ to. So, do not question my friend. Do not question me. You are not my mother.”

“But, I raised you like I was. I gave up my _life_ for you!” Fleur shouted. She shut her mouth instantly, looking at the pain that twisted Gabrielle’s face into something sour.

“You won’t have to anymore,” Gabrielle whispered and she grabbed her cloak and ran from the shop, the bell ringing behind her.

Fleur groaned. “ _Fuck._ ”

* * *

 

**FAIREST OF**

* * *

 

Hermione couldn’t help her gasp.

The library was just as gorgeous as Hermione had heard it was. She had read _Hogwarts: A History_ a million times, the chapter on the library well thumbed through. But, it was the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen. Nothing could have prepared Hermione for the pure majesty of it all. The mahogany bookshelves five times her height, lined with books and tomes and scrolls. They were endless to her eye, books and books. So much information and knowledge that Hermione nearly wept in joy.

Hermione walked along the bookcases, dragging her fingers across the shelves. Draco had tried his best to keep this from her but, with a wand, the lock charm was no match for her. As long as she didn’t encounter Madame Pince, the loyal bookkeeper, she was in the clear.

“Lady Granger.”

Hermione jumped at the voice. She spun and looked at the man. Tall and straw-blonde, and handsome.

“Lord Crouch,” Hermione breathed.

His lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m no Lord. That’s my father. Barty to you, my Lady,” he said, taking her hand and bending over it to press a kiss to her knuckles. Hermione swallowed.

“I’m no Lady, Barty. Hermione will do,” she corrected.

“Hermione.” He said her name with a sort of awe that Hermione had never heard before. She pinked even further and slowly pulled her hand away. Barty’s lips twitched into his smile and his tongue flicked out, licking at his bottom lip nervously. “So, the dragon sets the little bird free.”

Hermione snorted. ‘Little bird’. She was just as tall as Barty Crouch, and though she was thin as a rail, she’d never been compared to a bird. A wraith perhaps. Definitely, a dementor, though that was no fault of hers. But, a bird? Never.

“My patronus is an otter, actually,” Hermione snapped.

“You can cast a corporeal Patronus?” Barty asked, his eyes wide with delight. He leaned forward. “I’ve never been able to cast one.”

“ _You?_ But, you’re a Death Eater,” Hermione pointed out.

Barty snorted. “You want to know a secret?” he whispered. Hermione nodded once. “The Dark Lord can’t cast a Patronus period. It’s why he sends the Lestranges to monitor Azkaban every few months.”

“You’re joking,” Hermione gaped.

Barty shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line out of amusement. He always seemed to be near the edge of laughter. It was a far cry from the grimness and mean-spirited nature of court.

“I’m not,” Barty laughed. He took her hand, tugging her further between the bookshelves. “Now, little _otter_ , what are you looking for in particular. I spent plenty of time in this room now that my father is here.”

“You don’t like your father?” Hermione asked, curiously.

Barty winked at her. “What man does?”

Hermione laughed and let him tug her along. He began pulling books off the shelves, tucking them against his side.

“Do you like ancient ruins? I think it’s fascinating. _Advanced Ruins Translation._ The Dark Lord picked me for my defensive magic, you know. Learned nearly everything from _Defensive Magical Theory_ and my father. Here. Take it,” he said, shoving books at her hard and fast. He paused in front of a book and hummed. “ _The Dream Oracle._ ”

“Don’t tell me you believe in Divination,” Hermione said, pursing her lips.

If anything, Hermione's life taught her how faulty divination was. Fleur couldn't read the future and Hermione firmly believed no one else could either. The future was so subjective, held hostage to people's choices and chance.

“The prophecy about Lily Gryffindor came true,” Barty pointed out.

Hermione opened her mouth to argue all about self-fulfilling prophecies when she heard a familiar voice. Hermione turned away, pulling the books from Barty’s arms and moved forward, her skirts swishing behind her. Barty followed on her heels and Hermione’s frown deepened as Luna’s voice grew louder and louder as Hermione drew closer.

Luna. And Rodolphus again. But, it was the middle of the day now, and they seemed unafraid to be found in such a position.

“You tell him to feed the beast raw meat soaked in brown liquor and fireseed to encourage growth,” Luna said, gently, as she snuggled deeper against Rodolphus. His large hand sat on her thigh, pulling her closer to his body, practically cradling her in his lap.

“Aye, Luna. Anything else?” Rodolphus murmured against the top of her head.

“No, my love. We shan’t tell him his future,” Luna said, coyly and she leaned up, pressing her lips to his in three quick kisses. Rodolphus snorted.

“You read the future now, Luna?” Rodolphus teased.

“I know enough. I trust in prophecies, Rodolphus. You know this. The _Wyrdfod_ is here. He calls Fire. He will free my people,” Luna said, sternly, brushing her fingers against his cheek, but so careful to avoid the scar that tore through his eye and flesh. Instead, she pressed her lips to it, worshipping the scar.

“Luna,” Rodolphus said, almost warning.

“No. This scar is mine. I will kiss it better for you,” Luna said, her voice cracking. “You killed the deathless for me.”

Barty’s hand clamped tight around Hermione’s wrist and he tried to pull her back, his eyes wide.

“We shouldn’t be watching them,” Barty warned.

Hermione jerked away from him, eyes narrowed.

“That’s my maid. She’s my maid,” Hermione said and she marched out, into the open sitting area.

Rodolphus stiffened immediately, his hand tightening on Luna’s thigh. He made a move, as if to get up, before realizing that he’d be dumping Luna onto the ground. Luna slowly stood up, her eyes wide and her lips pulled into a soft smile.

“Hermione,” Luna said, dreamily.

“Is everything all right over here?” Hermione asked, suspicious as she stared at Rodolphus. Rodolphus shifted. He was so much older than Luna. Older and taller and larger. It made Hermione afraid for Luna. Luna was so sweet.

“Everything is fine,” Luna said, softly. She turned back to Rodolphus and stood on her toes, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Remember what I’ve said.”

“Always,” Rodolphus rumbled. He nodded once at Hermione. “Lady Granger. And Barty. Come out here.”

Luna stiffened as Barty crept forward from the stacks, chagrined. “Uh, hello. Rodolphus.”

“Don’t you have somewhere _else_ to be?” Rodolphus asked, cracking his neck. Barty hummed, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip again. Slowly, he handed Hermione the short stack of books.

“Here are the rest. If you ever need recommendations, I’d be glad to give you a few,” Barty said, earnestly. Hermione flushed and nodded, momentarily forgetting the image of Luna and Rodolphus Lestrange curled tight against each other.

“Barty, let’s go,” Rodolphus snapped.

Barty nodded once and followed after Rodolphus. Hermione flushed darker when the man glanced back one more time. When Hermione turned back to Luna, the younger woman looked at her with distrustful grey eyes.

“You shouldn’t speak to him. The King won’t like it,” Luna warned.

Hermione’s lip curled into a sneer. “Since when do you care about what the King does and doesn’t like?”

"Never. But, I care about your well-being. If he sees you flirting with another man, even the Dark Lord can't protect you from that," Luna warned.

Hermione scoffed at the implication. She hadn’t been flirting. Barty had only been kind and, kindness had become a rarity as of late.

“I’m not the only one fraternizing with Death Eaters too. Rodolphus Lestrange, hmm?” Hermione snapped. “Well, we can both keep our secrets.”

Luna was silent for a long moment, as she looked at Hermione. Even at the best of time, Hermione felt like Luna's gaze stripped her bare. She swallowed hard.

“You know, Hermione, sometimes, you can be a real ass.”

And then, Luna walked away.

* * *

 

**THEM**

* * *

 

“Gellert! Warlock of the Sea! We come to you!” the old crone shouted over the crashing waves. Her eyes burned and watered, streams of tears long dried on her wizened cheeks. Her tastebuds had swelled from the salt in the air, and her feet were cracked opened and bloody from the salt bridge that she had walked, night and day, into the endlessness of the Narrow Sea.

She had walked up the salt bridge, nearly to the mouth of the Narrow Sea that led out into the Great Sea, towards Alfheim and the City-States.

“WE, BELLATRIX CHAOS-BRINGER, COME TO YOU!” she roared, her voice cracked and raw. She doubled over, coughing and spitting phlegm onto the salt bridge.

When she looked up again,  a pair of navy blue eyes stared at her from the edge of the salt bridge. His eyes were cruel, a long sheet of wet blonde hair hanging over her shoulders. He reached a blue-tinged hand from the water and beckoned her forward. Bellatrix went forward and slowly kneeled at the edge.

“You seek the Drowned God?” he asked her, his blue lips barely moving.

“If it’s what he calls himself. We look for the Warlock of the Sea,” Bellatrix drawled.

She had heard all about self-proclaimed. She knew all about them. And she knew a Godkiller too. Bellatrix’s lips curled into a sneer. She would kill the bitch if it was the last thing.

“He hears you,” the man said and then he grabbed her by the front of her dress and pulled her into the water, dragging her below.

With the strength of an old woman, she kicked and screamed, bubbles escaping her mouth. She choked on the water as it filled her stomach, her lungs, her world. Everything grew blacker as the man dragged her farther and farther down into the ocean's depth. The water was swallowing her whole and even her magic seemed to leave her in her final moments. Bellatrix hissed and stopped struggling. She would die with dignity.

She waited, preparing for it all to end.

And then, she could breathe again. Bellatrix collapsed against the wet rocks and wheezed, vomiting up salt water. She looked up, her cracked, calloused hands pressed against the rocks. The man walked past her as if nothing had happened. He had a wet sheer blue robe on, his cock bouncing gently against his inner thigh. He was decorated with shells and coral, heavy gold and crystal hanging from around his neck. His hair was flat against his head, a dark honey blonde from the weight of the saltwater.

So, he was Gellert.

“You’ve _aged_ , Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer," Gellert taunted as he moved further into the cave. Bellatrix stood up and lumbered after him, her violet eyes narrowed as she regarded him. "Ah, yes. I know you, Bellatrix. The selkies screamed of your coming after you slew one and dragged her skin for warmth."

The cave was well-decorated, draped in coral reefs and shells and sea glass. It was a place of excess, and the longer Bellatrix looked at Gellert, she knew what kind of person he was. She knew what he would want.

“Do you know why we’ve come?” Bellatrix snapped.

Gellert rolled navy eyes to look at her. How beautiful he was. Long and lean with pale blue skin. And then, in a flicker of an eye, he was suddenly a stooped old man. Bellatrix recoiled just as Gellert’s appearance flickered again. Gellert smirked.

“Presumably to fix...that,” Gellert said, gesturing wildly to her body. Bellatrix snarled and Gellert laughed, mockingly. “My dear, sweet child--”

“If you know us, you know we are not a child,” Bellatrix snapped angrily.

Gellert snorted. “Child, everyone is a child to me. I am as old as the sea. As the stars. As the moon,” he said, dramatically as he crossed to a sea glass cabinet and threw the doors open. They crashed against the stone, shattering but, Gellert didn’t seem to notice.

“You are lying,” Bellatrix said, firmly.

Gellert hummed. “Don’t tell my clients,” he purred. He rifled through the potion bottles, searching for something. “I’ve never had such a famous client. Well, except one.”

“We’d rather know the payment,” Bellatrix snapped, irritated. She raked her fingers through her brittle hair, pulling away another thatch of hair. She let out a quiet whine.

Gellert laughed again. "I'm getting there, Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer," he warned. "Now, I once had a client. A little girl really but, a princess. A princess of the sea. She was a beautiful thing but, you all...you land-walkers all think the same. You think you know beauty. I changed her to make her beautiful. Gave her a pair of legs."

“We know beauty. We were beautiful,” Bellatrix whispered, forlornly.

“And you will be again,” Gellert hissed. He pulled out a poisonous green potion and hummed, licking the salt crusted on the bottle of the vial. “Now, the little girl wanted to know you all. She was a curious little thing. And I let her walk away. She never paid me. I didn’t ask for much, you know. Just her voice.”

“Why does this story concern us?” Bellatrix demanded, irritated. “We will discuss our payment n--”

“This is the payment. Bring me the mermaid,” Gellert snarled and then, suddenly, Bellatrix saw what struck fear in people’s hearts.

It was in his eyes. This Warlock laughed and smiled but, his eyes were dark and mistrusting. His eyes were cruel and there was no laughter there. Just a devastating type of hunger that threatened to consume all in his path. The Warlock was here for the deals. Nothing more. Nothing less.

_Nothing._

“We don’t have time for a mermaid,” Bellatrix said, dismissively.

“The mermaid is at Hogwarts. The seat of your power. Bring her to the water and I will find her. I will find her _anywhere_ ,” Gellert said, his voice dark.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. She ran her fingers through her hair and pulled out another chunk. Bellatrix let out a terrible cry, pressing gnarled fingers over her bald head. She glanced at her reflection of the sea glass. Her head bare, marked with only liver spots and wrinkled like an old raisin. She was dying with every passing second, shriveling into nothingness.

“Done. Done,” Bellatrix stammered. “We will bring her to you. We shall. We shall. We shall strike a covenant. Finished in blood.”

Gellert looked at her with a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“I would have never suggested a _covenant_. A promise would have done. But, if it is a covenant you want...” Gellert drawled as he stooped over and pulled up a sharp of sea glass. He drew it across his palm and wet blood bubbled up from the jagged cut. He offered the bloody end to Bellatrix. “It is a covenant we shall forge.”

Bellatrix ran her tongue over the blood, tasting it and she moaned. She gasped, her heart beating easier as the blood of beauty dried on her tongue. She smeared the shard of sea glass across her lips, painting them red and then she held forward her trembling arm, loose with fat and skin. She drew the sea glass across her skin, cutting deep.

Gellert grinned and ran his finger over the cut, sucking his fingers into his mouth sexually. Slowly, he began to bob his head, smirking around his fingers as he mimed sucking a cock. Bellatrix shuddered, sneering in disgust.

“We strike a covenant. Give us the potion. A potion for a damned mermaid,” Bellatrix demanded.

Gellert hummed and opened the vial, smearing his blood over the mouth of the vial and offered it.

“Drink up, Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer,” he drawled.

Bellatrix dragged her tongue around the rim, tasting and lapping at Gellert’s blood and then she downed the vial liquid, coughing and hacking as the sludge slid down her gullet and settled in her belly. The moment the bottle was empty, Bellatrix jerked, falling to her knees as the magic turned in her body, filling her veins and her eye went wide and bloodshot. Bellatrix opened her mouth to scream but nothing emerged as she convulsed on the ground.

Her entire body jerked over and over again, seizing uncontrollably at the magic worked over her. Gellert stared down at her with cold eyes void of any humor or laughter. He walked around her, shaking salt over her body, whispering ancient words for ancient spells. Bellatrix recognized the ancient magic that filled her body. It was as if she were eating the rarest and most beautiful of hearts.

Her eyes suddenly went into focus as her entire body burned. She watched her trembling hands smoothen out, dead skin peeling and flaking away. She whined as her skin tightened around her like a cocoon, too tight for her body and then suddenly it burst in a swell of mucus and blood. She was a snake, shedding her skin, and when she emerged, her hands were taut and firm, and soft, as if she had been just born.

Bellatrix cried out, her voice high and full, as the skin flaked away, leaving a filthy mess beneath her, and when it finally ended, she breathed quietly, lying in her filth.

She ran her hands over her body, cupping her full, heavy breasts, dragging her fingers down her supple sides, to her round hips, to her wet folds, tight like a virgin. Bellatrix cried out in triumph as she sat up and luscious black locks fell around her, pooling between her thighs. Bellatrix staggered to her feet, and she felt _powerful_.

“My, my, you are fair,” Gellert said, appreciatively, as he circled her, staring at her tight waist, her high ass, her firm calves. Bellatrix preened under the attention.

“We are,” Bellatrix hissed, and then she turned to Gellert. “But, we are not _the_ Fairest.”

Gellert hummed. “No. You aren’t. Oh, we’ve heard stories under the sea, indeed. And I know the blue eyes that watch me.”

Bellatrix moved forward. Gellert ignored her, walking over to a wardrobe and pulling out silver robes, far too extravagant and conservative for the man draped in sheer fabrics. He tossed them to her, and she took them, pulling them over her naked form. She buttoned it up to her cleavage and let the swell of her breasts be noticed. It felt like centuries since she had been beautiful. She would have the world know.

“How may we destroy the Fairest?” Bellatrix demanded.

“I am not your magic mirror, Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer. You asked for one thing. That is our covenants. Beauty for a mermaid,” Gellert warned her, sharply.

Bellatrix shook her head. “We will give you all the Narrow Sea when we are queen again.”

Gellert froze. “All?”

“All,” Bellatrix confirmed.

Gellert turned to her and moved closer, cupping her jaw. He pulled her close until they shared their breaths. "Find the tomb of the Deathless. Find the unbeatable wand," Gellert said, sharply. He pulled away towards his cabinets and pulled forth a crooked wand, scraped and light as if crafted from driftwood. "Find the wand."

“What wand? The Deathless?” Bellatrix snarled as she snatched the driftwood wand from Gellert’s grasp.

Gellert pressed his fingers to her cheek. "The Narrow Sea…" Gellert rasped, his lashes fluttering in lust. And then he swallowed it down. "Find the tomb of the Deathless. The deathless is hidden separate from the body inside a needle, which is in an egg, which is in a duck, which is in a hare, which is in a chest of gold, which is buried under a green oak tree, which is on the island of Eshnur, in the center of the City-States."

“And the wand? A wand that is unbeatable?” Bellatrix hissed.

Gellert nodded. "I am not a wizard or witch like you. I am warlock. I cannot wield it. But, you...the Narrow Sea...it has been called many things. The Deathstick. The Wand of Destiny. But...call it by its name: The Elder Wand."

Bellatrix shuddered. The name sounded powerful. She drifted back, the hem of her silver robes swinging against the top of her feet. Her feet that were no longer dried or marked with blood. Bellatrix lifted her new wand and Conjured a pair of silver boots. She shrieked with delight, swinging around, running her hands up and down her body. She looked up at Gellert.

“We will find the wand. We will bring you the mermaid and the Narrow Sea,” Bellatrix swore. “Bellatrix Slytherin always rewards those that assist her.”

* * *

 

**ALL?**

* * *

 

“Gabrielle.”

Fenrir stared down at her, his brow furrowed. Gabrielle hiccuped, keeping her cloak tight around herself, the rain crashing down around her, the hem of her cloak spotted with mud. She shivered against the cold, her Warming Charm breaking and cracking.

“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, her teeth chattering.

“Come inside, Gabrielle,” Fenrir said, his voice soft and Gabrielle stumbled after him, puddles appearing underneath her sopping skirts and shoes. “Shoes off. Before you catch a death.”

“J-just a-a death? N-not mine?” she said, her laugh rattling in her chest as she toed off her shoes, her bare feet touching the cold marble floors. She nearly bent over from the cold when suddenly, she swept off her feet, cradled against a large barrel chest.

“Just a death,” Fenrir said, quietly as he walked her towards one of the three parlors in the chateau. Gabrielle pressed herself into the heat of his body and whined softly when he lowered her to the sofa, right in front of the roaring fire.

Fenrir pulled his wand and waved his wand, a blast of warm air drying her clothes.

“T-thank you, Fenrir,” she whispered, as her cheeks flush pink from the sudden change in temperature and she let out a soft sneeze. Fenrir’s laugh sounded like a growl.

“I know I said you could come see my maps but, I didn’t know you’d brave a winter rainstorm,” Fenrir teased as he kneeled in front of her. Even kneeling, he was nearly of a height with her, sitting on the sofa before him. He pressed his hands to her knees and she settled her hands on top of his.

She rubbed her small fingers over the hair on his knuckles, a thoughtful expression on her face. She looked up at him and Fenrir stared at her. She was a beauty. The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Far more beautiful than any of the others. It was Veela beauty, but it was more than that. There was something raw about this girl.

“My sister forbade me from seeing you,” Gabrielle said, softly. She stared at him, waiting for the fury.

“Your sister is a smart woman,” Fenrir allowed after a long moment.

Gabrielle grabbed Fenrir’s hand, pulling it to her lips, defiantly. She pressed a kiss to his knuckles and shook her head.

“My sister is _not_ my mother,” she said, sharply and then she grabbed him by his face and pulled him in, pressing her lips against his, hard.

It was unpracticed; the clumsy kiss of a green girl. Still, Fenrir reveled in the sweetness of it. He let it linger, her lips moving against his before he pulled back. He waited for her blush but, she stared at him with big blue-gray eyes, her blonde hair wild around her pretty, round face.

“Gabrielle,” he said, gently. His lips twitched into a feral smile. “That isn’t how you give a proper kiss.”

“Kiss me proper, then,” Gabrielle said firmly. “I want you to.”

And so he did, nipping at her lips, his hands moving up her knees and thighs, settling on her waist. Gabrielle scooted forward, her thighs spreading wide to situate him and she clutched at his face as if she were lost in the sea of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the next chapter of CINDERS. Most of it was just some set-up work but, hopefully, it'll be enough to keep any plotholes from happening later. I hope your enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Also, I've finally finalized the list of which fairytales I'll be using throughout the entire story so, if you happen to what to know what they are just comment and I'll let you know!
> 
> Hope you review and/or kudos!


	4. Chapter Four

Severus leaned against the wall, waiting as his Lord paced the room, watching the empty space before them. Lucius waited, his arm bared. He glanced at Severus and rolled his eyes. Severus pressed his hand over his mouth, smothering his derisive snort.

“Do you have somewhere else to be, Lucius, Severus?” Voldemort drawled.

Lucius cleared his throat. “No, my Lord.”

Voldemort regarded him for a long moment as if considering his sincerity. Lucius looked up at him, the picture of innocence. Voldemort rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Good,” Voldemort snapped and he strode forward, pressing the tip of his wand to the skull and snake tattoo.

Lucius gritted his teeth against the pain and Severus winced in sympathy. He knew first hand how painful the Summoning could be for the Death Eater. They had all experienced it once before. The loud sharp pops of Apparition were deafening but, Severus refused to show weakness in front of the others. Perhaps Lucius and, of course, his Lord, but no one else.

Severus looked around.

The Lestranges had arrived, though Rodolphus looked a little messy as if he'd just rolled out of a bed. Most probably a romp with the little servant girl that Rodolphus thought no one knew about. Of course, Severus had not been the Lord of Whispers in name only. Rabastan looked curious, staring around the incomplete circle.

Corban Yaxley had arrived, tall and firm, but without Thorfinn Rowle. So, Lucius and Severus had been wrong. Rowle’s House had been saved from extinction but, his absence meant not for very long.

The Carrows stood at the ready, eyes wide with excitement. Barty Crouch Jr. looked hesitant but, intrigued as he looked at the missing spaces in the circle. The last two that rounded out the group was Augustus Rookwood, a broad-shouldered man with a sloping nose, and Peter Pettigrew. Peter looked around, frantic, his eyes watery and his oversized teeth nibbling his lower lip raw.

“My Lord,” they whispered over and over again, moving forward to kiss the back of Voldemort’s hand. Voldemort stared down at them, terrible empty-faced.

Severus always remained in awe of his Lord. He switched from the charming Lord Slytherin to the terrifying Dark Lord Voldemort in only seconds. If only the pretty Fairest One could see him now, he wouldn’t think him a tamed thing.

“Welcome, my friends. It has been seventeen long years….seventeen years since I summoned you _all_ to me,” Voldemort began as he looked around, his eyes falling on Yaxley and Peter. Peter cowered but, Yaxley was like stone. “Yet, you answer my call as though it were yesterday. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?”

Voldemort stepped, sniffing the air, his bright red eyes wild. “I smell guilt,” he continued. “The stench of guilt hangs heavy.”

A shiver ran through the circle but, nobody dared to step away from him.

“My sister has died and the empire I have built from bones and blood is slipping from my fingers. And I ask myself...why did this band of witches and wizards never come to their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty, begging to correct the mistakes that have been wrought?” the Dark Lord asked.

It was an unfair question, Severus and Lucius knew. But, the Dark Lord was not fair to his Death Eaters. That wasn’t the point of them at all.

“My...my Lord, forgive--” Peter began, stammering.

“ _Crucio_.”

Peter Pettigrew fell onto the floor, screaming and shrieking. Voldemort ended the curse and stared, down at the gasping, tortured man.

“Get up, Wormtail,” Voldemort hissed. Peter pushed himself up, gasping and wheezing for air. Voldemort turned towards the circle. “Look around. Faces are missing. Tell me, who.”

Rodolphus cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Thorfinn Rowle, Torquil Travers, Walden MacNair, and Antonin Dolohov," Rodolphus reported before stepping back into rank.

“Severus, explain what this means,” Voldemort said, all cool patience once more.

Severus cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Only those that are still loyal to you were called through the blood and ink that mark us as yours. Only those whose intention lies with serving you and you alone,” he said.

Voldemort nodded. "Indeed, my friend," Voldemort murmured. He paused, considering his next words as he looked around the room at his most loyal. "My sister...the late Queen Bellatrix was murdered. By my youngest sister, Narcissa."

A ripple of shock and disgust rocked through the circle but, they were all well-trained enough not to turn to each other and whisper. But, Lucius could hear the thoughts in their heads. _Kinslayer,_ they called her.

_Kinslayer._

“Narcissa murdered her way to the throne, then. What shall be done about her, my Lord?” Rabastan asked, sharply, immediately speaking up. Rodolphus cut his younger brother a look that Rabastan ignored. Voldemort looked at him, approvingly.

“I have taken measures of allying myself and our cause with another. Our goal has always been to preserve the monarchy and the power of Slytherin. To ensure our survival, I have aligned us with the Prince of Gryffindor, Harry Wildfyre,” Voldemort hissed.

This time, the ranks did break and they all began speaking, swiftly. Concern was voice loudly, all questioning his decisions, implying Imperius Curses and poisons and potions. Love potions. Lucius winced. He knew what came next.

“ _Enough!_ ” Voldemort snarled, whipping his wand around. It landed on Barty. “ _Crucio_.”

Barty burst into pained laughter. The curse ended as swiftly as it began and he only stumbled, caught by Rabastan and righted by Yaxley.

“Lucius and I have long known about our Lord’s decision. To believe that he could be bewitched implies that you doubt our Lord’s superiority over all other wizards,” Severus said, his voice a blank slate as he regarded the group of them. In truth, he had only known one wizard that could possibly outwit the Dark Lord and he had long locked him away in the reflection of a mirror.

“Of course. My Lord, we will follow you anywhere. What would you have us do?” Alecto Carrow asked, voice coarse and grainy.

“Swear allegiance and fealty to the true King of Gryffindor as you would me. When you do, then I shall reveal my plans to you all. But, know this, we will not remain at Hogwarts Castle for much longer. You are dismissed,” Voldemort said, sharply.

The Death Eaters all looked amongst each other. Voldemort had no doubt that once they disappeared, they would speak amongst each other about it all. Wormtail quaked in his boots but, he would be loyal. At least, Yaxley would keep him in line. None would warn the disloyal ones out of fear of Voldemort’s wrath.

The Death Eaters disapparated one by one until only Barty remained. He shifted nervously and Voldemort raised a single eyebrow. He was far more relaxed with Barty and the Lestranges, similar to how he was around Lucius and Severus. The Lestranges had been at his side when he had made his last journey before settling permanently at Hogwarts.

Voldemort had practically fostered Barty when he had grown too unruly for his father.

“Barty?” Voldemort prompted.

“My Lord...you said...you said we wouldn’t be staying for much longer,” Barty said.

Voldemort sighed. “Barty, I do hate to repeat myself, as you know.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Barty said, hurriedly. “But, I wanted to know...will we be leaving with Lady Granger? She doesn’t deserve to be stuck here with the false king.”

Voldemort’s lips twitched into a smirk. Barty had always been a quick learner. The moment he had learned that they no longer followed the King Draco, he had changed his rhetoric.

“Lady Granger isn’t your concern. She is my concern. What do you care, Barty?” Voldemort asked.

Barty hesitated, looking up at the taller man. “My Lord…”

“Go, Barty,” Voldemort sighed. He knew when he wouldn’t get an answer.

Though he had told Barty to go, Voldemort Disapparated himself, disappearing to a place that he had not been in so very long.

The room was covered in a thick layer of dust, powdery like snow. Voldemort's nose twitched with the urge to sneeze and he coughed instead, moving forward. He glanced at the bust, Helena's diadem glinting under a layer of gray. Quietly, he lifted his wand.

“ _Scourgify_.”

The diadem shined as bright as the sun, nearly blinding in the dim firelight. Voldemort cleared his throat and looked away, raising his wand again. The fire burned brighter. Fire reminded him of raven hair and plump red lips, and the fiercest look in a pair of bright jewel eyes. Voldemort swallowed as he approached the mirror, the only thing untouched by the passage of time.

His own reflection stared back at him, curious and handsome. He had not aged. Just a taste of Harry’s blood had rejuvenated him for what felt like a half-century. He imagined that’s what the fleeting taste of immortality was like. Even thinking about it sent blood rushing to his cock and he felt it twitch. Voldemort took a deep breath, centering himself as his reflection disappeared, revealing electric blue eyes.

“ _Tom Marvolo Slytherin, come near. Ask your questions, truth you’ll hear.”_

“Always rhyming, Albus,” Voldemort mocked bitterly. The man trapped in the mirror did not respond, only staring at him with sad blue eyes. “The Fairest is not dead, if you must know.”

The blue eyes lit up with surprise and Voldemort ignored it, sneering. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, looking for a way to banish those blue eyes.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is fairest of them all?”

The glass rippled and revealed the Fairest.

Harry stood in the middle of the paddock, laughing madly at something. His eyes were clenched closed as he held his stomach, doubling over in his humor. Freia was at his back, hissing and nudging him with her large head but, Harry only grasped at her scales to stay on his feet. He spun around, green eyes wide, his lips pulled into the softest smile. He bit his lower lip, looking past Voldemort, staring at the person that had made him laugh like that. He was beautiful in the sun, his pale skin beginning to tan from all his time out in the February sun. Harry Wildfyre was a fire that had burned Voldemort’s reality.

Voldemort's lips parted and his breathing grew shallow. He didn't notice when he lifted his hand to brush against Harry's cheek. He flinched when his finger brushed against the cold glass and the illusion shattered.

The blue eyes returned, staring at him with wide eyes. With soft understanding.

“ _Harry Wildfyre is the one you ask of. Harry Wildfyre is the one you do --_ ”

Voldemort lifted his chin, staring at the mirror with a sneer.

“Enough,” he snarled and then he walked away, cursing those damned blue eyes.

He had a Vow to honor and nothing more.

A Vow.

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

“Lady Greengrass, my King!”

Draco paused as he polished his knives, laying them out to dry.

“Send her in,” Draco commanded.

The door creaked open and Draco’s fingers slipped, nearly sliding over the edge of his blade.

Draco stared, slack-mouthed. Daphne Greengrass was a beauty, indeed. She was foreign-looking, just as his betrothed was. Exotic. Tall and thin. But, Daphne Greengrass was not brittle and wraith-like nor did she give off the air of a victim, the air that Draco had smelled around Hermione when he had first seen her. No, Daphne Greengrass was stunning in a thin gown of dark sea green. It just covered her small breasts, exposing the skin between them down to her belly. The skirts flowed around her, long and sheer as water.

“You wanted to see me, your Grace?” Daphne asked, softly.

Draco swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. Blaise and I are going on a hunting trip but, I just...I wanted to invite you and your family to court after we return. And I’d like to know how you were adjusting.”

Daphne bit her bottom lip and nodded, moving forward. “That’s very thoughtful, your Grace. I’m adjusting well.”

“It must be a great change from the mess that is Arcadia,” Draco said, sharply. He leaned forward, his eyes roving over her, hungry. He wondered, briefly, how she would look in red but, decided that she looked far more fetching in green.

"A welcome one. Arcadia is a sad place for a Lady raised as I. I was raised to attend court, your Grace. No place for me, indeed," Daphne murmured as she walked forward, looking at the King's knives. She slowly fell into the sofa, sitting just next to him.

Draco looked down her next, at the valley between her breasts, and then found her eyes again.

“And the home of traitors?” Draco asked. “Is that a place for a Lady?”

Daphne swallowed. “Your Grace...the Longbottoms took me in, initially, to be the wife to Neville. However, they took me closer and included me in their family. But, we were only children when the Lady and Lord Longbottom betrayed your family. We would never.”

Draco hummed and lifted his hand, cupping Daphne's cheek. Daphne's eyes fluttered closed and she pressed her cheek against his hand. She looked at him and bit her lower lip.

“And if I wished to make an example out of your brother-ward?” Draco drawled.

Daphne’s eyes flashed open and she leaned forward, running her finger over the hilt of Draco’s knife, brushing her fingers against his.

“As is your right. You are the King,” Daphne murmured. “But...I would beg you to spare him. My brother-ward is a simple man, consumed only with his plants. We do not have the minds for politics.”

“Aye, you wouldn’t. I’ve seen few women who do,” Draco said, thinking about his most-trusted advisor besides Blaise. His mother had a head for politics. She had once been promised the throne, before being passed over for his mad aunt.

Daphne continued staring at the knife in Draco’s hand. It was a finely-crafted instrument, a hilt of steel trapped in gold leafing, and the blade sparkling from the oils he had rubbed up and down the blade. The hilt was curved into the Slytherin ‘S’. It was a perfect snake. Draco had always identified more with his Slytherin side than his Malfoy side, no doubt due to his _father._

“Do you like it? It’s one of the finest blades in the Empire,” Draco bragged.

“It’s beautiful! I’ve heard of your knife-throwing skills, your Grace. Will you show me?” Daphne asked, excitedly.

Draco paused, his eyes widening. He nodded once. He stood up and looked over his shoulder at her. She was leaning forward, all her attention on him. She wasn’t worried about politics or his public image like his mother. She wasn’t a challenge like Hermione, though he did enjoy the challenge his future lady-wife provided him.

"It's all about the technique and the wrist," Draco babbled, excitedly. "It's very much an art form. The rotation is all that matters. It's quite easy to overthrow and you miss your mask. Adjustments are made with how you hold the knife, where. But, with practice, it's easy as…"

Draco trailed off and threw, aiming for the frozen portrait of Salazar Slytherin, the grandfather he’d never met. His uncle kept him frozen because he didn’t want to hear him. The canvas tore loudly as Draco’s knife met its mark, embedding deep into Salazar’s frozen left eye. Daphne clapped, full of awe.

“Oh, my! Do you hunt this way too? Will you take me hunting?” she asked, grabbing at his arm, pressing against his side. Draco swallowed as he felt all of the warm skin even through his robes. Daphne sighed, shaking her head. “Forgive me, your Grace. A hunt is no place for a Lady.”

"My mother hunted and she is as much Lady as a warrior. It isn't unheard of. But, perhaps, Hogsmeade should be our first excursion," Draco corrected, his voice cracking and he turned to look Daphne in the eye again. He took a step forward. "Would you like to try?"

“Yes, please,” Daphne said.

“ _Accio_ ,” Draco said, Summoning the knife. It flew, hilt first towards Daphne. She caught it and stumbled back, laughing, her back pressed against Draco’s chest. Draco swallowed and pressed a hand to her waist, and then took her wrist, holding it. Her wrist was so thin. “Now, just enough force…”

“I imagine it must be exciting to throw something here and watch something die over there,” Daphne whispered, conspiratorial.

Draco swallowed hard. “Could you do it? Could you kill something?”

"I don't know, your Grace. Do you think I could?" Daphne whispered, turning her face towards him until their lips were only breaths apart. She bit bottom lip and Draco's eyes fell to it as she bit hard enough to draw blood.

He had been wrong. She was lovely in red.

“Yes,” Draco rasped.

“Would you like to watch me?” Daphne whispered.

Draco swallowed as he flicked her wrist and she threw it, aiming at Salazar Slytherin’s forehead. It landed its mark. Quietly, he whispered, “Yes.”

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

“I, Harry Wildfyre the First of His Name, call my council to order,” Harry declared.

He slammed his hand on the table and the council came to order, all turning towards him. Voldemort cleared his throat as he regarded Harry.

“I don’t have much time. Narcissa has noticed my frequent ‘hunts’,” Voldemort said, though not apologetic. Harry nodded in understanding and leaned forward. He knew Voldemort enough to know that he had something to say. “But, I come with words and a request, your Grace.”

“Speak them,” Harry said, softly.

Voldemort cleared his throat. “I cannot kill Draco.”

“What do you mean?” Kingsley rumbled, his eyes narrowed on Voldemort. “You swore to serve our King.”

“And I shall. But, I would ask him not to ask me to kill Draco Malfoy. He is my nephew. And blood is all,” Voldemort said with eyes only for his King.

Harry stared at him with pursed lips.

“And Narcissa?” Harry asked.

Voldemort’s eyes hardened. “Draco didn’t betray the blood. Narcissa did. I will end her. But, this is all I will ask of you.”

“Why would you ask that? You serve Harry,” Ginny retorted.

Voldemort turned crimson eyes onto Ginny. Ginny paled, her freckles stark against her skin, but she refused to back down, staring back. They glowered at each other, the tension so thick that it could only be cut with a steel broadsword. Harry hummed.

“My uncle is no Kinslayer,” Tonks said, sharply.

Ginny scoffed and leaned back in his chair. "He slew _my_ kin.”

“And he is punished with servitude to me until the end of his days,” Harry said, coolly. He looked around the table, and he knew that that didn’t satisfy any of the Order members on his council. Bill shifted, awkwardly. “I grant you your request, my Lord. I will kill Draco.”

McGonagall cleared her throat and leaned forward, folding her fingers together as she looked around the table. “May I ask, your Grace, why this meeting was called? There aren’t any military moves that we can make until the Usurper moves against you. We have called upon alliances and they have not arrived. What do we do?”

“Lord Prewett, Bill asked for this meeting,” Harry said, turning to Bill.

Bill winced at his title, as if he still couldn’t believe that it was his. Even as his siblings congratulated him, speaking on their pride, he looked like it was all a dream. It was a terrifying dream, if it was one. Harry didn’t dream anymore, not unless it involved skin and sex and semen and lust and want.

“We can’t pay for this war, your Grace,” Bill stated, plainly.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Internally, he was panicking. He had never considered the fact that wars costed money. And a lot of it. He didn’t have any money. He very much doubted Voldemort could simply waltz into the Hogwarts coffers and steal the amount necessary.

“What do you mean?” Tonks asked.

“We need money to build ships. Money to forge weapons. To feed our soldiers. We’re barely making ends meet now. My uncles took out a loan for the refugee camp but, feeding an army of thousands on the scale that Draco does would require more,” Bill said.

Voldemort’s eyes widened and he nodded as he regarded Bill.

“Your uncles took out a loan? From what bank? What bank would give a loan enough to feed 1500 refugees for almost two decades?” Harry asked.

“The goblins,” Voldemort answered before Bill could. Bill nodded in confirmation. “Gringotts Bank is the most powerful and wealthiest bank in the world. It’s one of the only banks in the world. We need to borrow from the goblins.”

McGonagall scoffed, shaking her head.

“We can’t pay back the goblins for the last loan. The Founders’ loan was forgiven. Their interest rates are absurd,” McGonagall said.

“I’ve dealt with goblins, as has Lord Prewett, I presume. It’s all about negotiation and demonstration of power,” Voldemort said, coolly. Harry knew him well enough to see the doubt lingering at the corner of his crimson eyes. “Lord Prewett, his Grace, Nymphadora, and I will go to appeal to the goblins.”

“Remus too,” Tonks added. Everyone turned to her, wide-eyed. Tonks cleared her throat. “They do not trust wizards. But, if we come with a creature. They will hold more respect. I know this.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Remus was a creature. That was news to him and he briefly wondered what kind of creature he was. A faded memory came to him. _Big Bad Wolf_ , McKinnon had called him. Remus. Before he could think longer on it, he was immersed back into the conversation of logistics.

Gringotts was a two-day ride south from the camp. The Slytherins hadn't had to take out a loan in years, so it was no wonder that they hadn't come across the refugee camp accidentally, especially when Bellatrix had been the Warden of the South.

“So, we ride to Gringotts in three days,” Voldemort said, softly.

“Why not sooner?” Kingsley asked in his slow steady voice.

Tonks and Voldemort exchanged looks.

“The final move to secure the Warden of the West’s fealty,” Tonks said.

Ginny frowned. “Do you know about this, Harry?” she asked, suspiciously. It sounded like Ron’s suspicion every time he saw Tonks, Harry, and Voldemort whispering together.

“I do,” Harry said. “I agree with the Dark Lord. Three days, we ride to Karnaron. Meeting adjourned.”

The council shifted after a moment. Bill and Ginny stood first, murmuring to each other. No doubt they would tell their brothers about what was happening though Harry had faith that they wouldn’t say anything terribly important. Madame McGonagall and Kingsley left next, probably speaking logistics about the journey to Gringotts.

“Tonks, will you go tell Charlie and Hagrid to feed Freia for me?” Harry asked.

Tonks raised an eyebrow at the veiled dismissal. She cast a look between Harry and Voldemort before nodding. “Sure, Harry. Come find me later?” she asked.

Harry nodded, absently. He watched as Tonks left the room and slowly moved to sit on the edge of the table, sitting just in front of Voldemort. Voldemort leaned back in his chair, looking up at Harry with a raised eyebrow.

“Sweetling,” he drawled.

Harry hummed, leaning forward. “ _Melui_ - _âr_.”

“Sweet king,” Voldemort repeated, softly. “You speak the ancient tongue to me?”

“That’s what you call me when you think I sleep,” Harry said. “ _Melui-âr_. _Füir-âr._ Sweet king. Fire king. You call me sweet things. Do you call me sweet things to your sister, the Warden?”

His eyes were bright with teasing and Voldemort rolled his eyes even as he brushed his fingers against Harry's kneecaps. Voldemort's eyes narrowed and he grabbed Harry's leg and pulled it over so that his legs were spread wide around Voldemort and he stood. Harry nearly fell back in surprise at the sudden movement. Voldemort reveled in how those plump lips parted, his crimson eyes predatory.

“I may have spoken about you. Would you like to know what I’ve told her?” he hissed.

“Yes,” Harry breathed.

Voldemort hummed. “The ancient tongue, _Melui_ - _âr._ ” What an enlightening teaching moment this would be.

Harry cleared his throat. “ _Goheno nin,_ ” Harry breathed, his eyelashes fluttering.

Voldemort laughed. “I told her many things. How you turned me on with your voice. Your face. How your _hûr_ makes me want to do unspeakable things to you. Tell me, sweetling, what is _hûr?”_

“Huh?” Harry hiccupped as he closed his eyes, his hands sliding up Voldemort’s arms, to his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time that Voldemort had allowed him to touch like this.

“This is a lesson, Harry. Don’t forget,” Voldemort said, leaning forward, brushing his lips against the young man’s ear.

“It means...vigor. Fiery spirit,” Harry choked out.

“Good,” Voldemort purred. “I told her how beautiful you are in the middle of an orgasm. How beautiful you were when I took your _gweneth_. How your laugh is bright and mad like the fire that burns through you. How you’re most beautiful when you’re in the sun, trying to best me in a spar even though I have decades of experience on you.”

Harry’s flush spread wider, down his neck. Voldemort knew how far down the blush went. He was the _only_ one that knew.

“You said those things to her, Tom?” Harry whispered, thoughtfully.

“Aye,” Voldemort murmured, dragging his fingers across Harry’s jaw, pressing them against his plush lips. Harry’s lips parted under his touch. “I would fuck you on this table.”

“I would let you,” Harry whispered. “But, you won’t.”

“No. I won’t,” Voldemort agreed, taking a step back. “You think you’re _uanui_. Ugly, Harry Potter.”

Harry flinched

“You make me feel beautiful. One of the first people to ever say that I was beautiful,” Harry whispered quietly. He slid back on the table until he sat in the middle of it and crossed his legs. The space between them felt like leagues instead of feet. “Do you think I’m beautiful, Tom? Not because of what magic tells you, or whatever. But... _me_. Do you think I’m beautiful?”

“ _Goheno nin_ ,” Voldemort whispered. “ _Inwi nwaly ten’ke_.”

“What does that mean?” Harry murmured.

_I ache for you._

Voldemort’s lips curled into a smirk. Harry stared at him, thoughtfully, tearing him apart with his eyes. He stripped Voldemort bare to his bones, to Tom Marvolo Slytherin, the boy he had been before the man he had become.

The Dark Lord cleared his throat. “Maybe if you studied more, you’d know. Now, how do you say, _forward march_?”

* * *

 

**ON**

* * *

 

The carriage made its way through the narrow streets of Hogsmeade. The rocking made Hermione sick to her stomach, clutching a handkerchief to her mouth. Daphne was pressed up against the window while Neville attempted to pull her back into her seat. Draco looked bored, staring out the window as if he'd seen Hogsmeade thousands of times. Hermione imagined he had though, she had never gotten permission to go.

“Oh, your Grace, it’s just wonderful. An entire city. Arcadia is so far from anyone and I love people,” Daphne said, excitedly. Draco looked at her as if he’d never seen another woman before in his life and Hermione’s stomach turned.

Draco had looked at her like that once. The night they had met.

“I’m glad you enjoy it, my Lady,” Draco murmured, his voice soft. His voice hadn’t even been so soft when he spoke to Pansy.

Daphne leaned forward and her eyes widened. “Stop!” she cried out and the carriage rolled to a stop.

Neville and Draco looked up, alarmed as Daphne threw the door open, grabbed Hermione’s hand, and pulled her from the carriage. Hermione squawked in alarm as she stumbled out of the carriage, her silk covered feet landing in a puddle of shit and sludge. Daphne didn’t seem to notice how the hem of her dress dragged through mud and piss.

“Daphne, we should have guards. We shouldn’t...the King won’t be pleased,” Hermione insisted and Daphne looked over her shoulder, her eyebrow quirked up in amusement.

“You don’t have to do everything the King says, Hermione Granger,” Daphne insisted as she tugged Hermione along. “And why do we need guards when we have wands?”

Daphne drew her own wand and Hermione was momentarily distracted by the oddness of it. It was made of a paler wood than Hermione had ever seen before, as if it had been bleached white by the sun, and it was long and crooked. Like a spare branch that had been picked up and fashioned into a wand, though Hermione knew much about wandlore from her studies in Gaul.

“I suppose,” Hermione allowed, drawing her own wand. She startled when they turned and were faced with a hulking man with broad shoulders, his face beaten tan by the sun, wrapped in a threadbare cloak. Hermione shivered.

It was February, and though the world grew warmer, it was still winter.

“Pardon me,” Hermione said, kindly.

The man looked surprised by her politeness and he stepped aside for the two ladies. They tramped through the mud, ignoring the filth clinging to their hems. Hermione felt a flash of victory. Narcissa and Draco wouldn’t be pleased but, it would be no fault of hers. It was all Daphne’s idea, and the King seemed to indulge her.

Hermione looked over her shoulder. Draco's pointed face floated in the window, watching through narrow gray eyes. Hermione turned back around and followed Daphne down the alleyway and her eyes widened when she saw the courtyard opening. There were aqueducts suspended in the air, spilling fresh water into a large fountain. Women and children were gathered, all drinking and laughing and socializing. They seemed to fall quiet when their eyes found the two women.

“Lady Granger,” one woman whispered with reverence.

“Oh. Hello. You know who I am?” Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

A child scurried up to her, feet baked brown from exposure, and she clung to her skirts, eyes wide.

“Course we know who ye are, Lady. You’re like us,” the little girl cried out.

“‘Us’?” Hermione repeated.

“Muggleborn children. Muggleborn orphans,” an older woman explained. She cleared her throat and held her hands out, a handful of the orphans rushing to her side, peeking behind her to catch a glimpse of the two Ladies. “When they heard that the King was to marry a Muggleborn witch...we were elated. Muggleborns have little power.”

“And your role, ma’am?” Daphne asked, curiously as she walked along the edges of the courtyard, seemingly oblivious to the stares.

“I teach them. Raise ‘em best as I can. Not everyone has tutors for these things,” the woman said.

“Aye. I taught most of my magic to myself. Through books and learning,” Hermione agreed and the woman cleared her throat.

"We don't have much of those, my Lady, and wands are expensive. Three to a wand is how we go about these things," the woman said.

Hermione’s heart beat faster. She’d never heard of a witch or wizard without their own wand. It sounded barbaric. And no books. She looked over at Daphne. Daphne looked at her, thoughtfully, before she turned back to the children and ushered them to her and pulled out her wand for them to fawn over. She began to speak to them quietly, drawing a little boy to her chest, whispering words of encouragement. She was a proper Lady, the kind Hermione would never be.

Hermione turned back to the older woman. “I don’t have much coin but, I will appeal to the King and the Dark Lord on matters of getting these children wands and learning materials. They are not sympathetic to our kind, it is true, but I will do all that I can,” Hermione swore. The little girl that clung to her skirts cheered and she looked down at her, swallowing.

“One day, I will be a smart Lady like _you_ , Lady Granger,” the little girl said, grinning her gap-toothed smile.

“No. Don’t be a Lady. It’s not all it seems,” Hermione said, softly. “Be a scholar. Learn all you can.”

“Aye, my Lady,” the little girl said, distractedly, running off to watch Daphne.

Daphne was using her wand, twisting the water through the air, freezing it and making it dance as the children clapped. She sang softly, in a familiar ancient language that Hermione nearly recognized.

“ _A Wyrdfod Raw_

_I chîn a thûl lin míriel_

_Fanuilos le linnathon_

_Ne ndor haer thar i aearon,_ ” Daphne sang.

Hermione leaned forward and gasped when the older woman stepped forward, enfolding her in a tight hug, distracting her.

“Oh!” Hermione murmured.

“Thank you, my Lady. I can’t thank ye enough. Thank ye, thank ye. Bless you, my Lady,” the woman wept into her ear and Hermione patted her back, awkwardly, nodding. She wondered how the woman was so comfortable hugging her, even as Hermione’s bony sides dug into her arms.

Hermione cleared her throat and smiled, stepping back as Daphne straightened, kissing the top of all the children’s heads.

“Return?” Daphne prompted.

Hermione nodded, and the two women began to walk, arm in arm. The children followed after Daphne, begging and crying for more of a show. Daphne laughed and began to twist her wand in the air, absentmindedly, Summoning water. Hermione watched in wonder as she manipulated the elements with little thought.

“Know this, Lady Granger, there is power in your Muggle blood. More power than Draco Malfoy will ever have,” Daphne murmured into her ear, resting her cheek on Hermione’s shoulder even as she entered the children.

“What kind of power do I possess against the King?” Hermione challenged.

“Compassion,” Daphne breathed.

Hermione’s eyes widened and she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her lips.

All the while, the King and the Lord of House Longbottom watched the two woman. Nervously, Neville straightened his jerkin and cleared his throat. Draco turned a pointed glare on the round-faced man, his thin lips pursed in anticipation.

“My sister is lovely, isn’t she?” Neville asked. Draco winced but, didn’t say anything, waiting and anticipating. Neville hid his surprise. “Compassionate and kind. The people of Arcadia love her. She is much like this, flitting about, helping and assisting. We call her the jewel of the sea.”

“Why?” Draco barked, turning his eyes back onto Daphne’s oddly beautiful face, tinged nearly green, her strange wide eyes, her interestingly turned nose.

Not beautiful--not like Hermione could be if she wasn’t so thin and dark-eyed--but, indeed, attractive. Lovely was a fitting description.

“Her eyes are the color of a dying sea.”

* * *

 

**THE**

* * *

 

“Out! Out! I won’t have little wizarding bastards in my house!”

Colin and Dennis Creevey scrambled to do as their stepmother bid. It had become too much. Their stepmother was not forgiving of wizards, a sentiment that was spreading throughout Karnaron after the attempted tax of the Muggles, and their father was no help in the matter, still mourning the loss of their mother.

Colin tugged his younger brother closer, looping his arm around his shoulders.

“Where do we go now, Colin?” Dennis asked. Colin forced a smile on his face, tousling the younger boy’s hair. He hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet.

“We walk, I guess. Until we hit a village. And then we’ll find a place to sleep,” he said as cheerfully as he could manage.

Perhaps, they would hit a few cottages first. Someone might be able to spare something to eat, especially if they were wizarding folk like he and his brother. They wouldn’t be purebloods either. Purebloods were all of the great Houses. They would be decent half-blood folks, or even more Muggleborns, who would treat them much better than their stepmother.

Sometimes, Colin forgot how it was to be treated like a person.

“Okay, Colin. But, I’m a little hungry,” Dennis insisted.

Colin forced a laugh. “Dennis, you’re twelve! You shouldn’t whine like a little kid.”

“I’m _not_ a little kid,” Dennis retorted but he only squirmed closer to Colin’s side. He knew that they could only rely on each other.

They were too far out into Karnaron for the forests to really be considered the Forbidden Forest but, the woods were still dangerous. There was a civil war going on, though only whispers of it had reached or affected the Creevey’s small cottage.

Colin hummed. There was definitely a city to the south. Godric’s Hollow was far but, probably only a fortnight of a walk. If they could find small shelters to sleep and kind people then they could make it.

But, the woods were cold. Colin shuddered as the wind whistled, shaking the branches above. Dennis burrowed deeper into his side.

Colin wasn’t sure how long they walked but, when they finally stopped to rest, the sun was high in the sky. It was mid-afternoon. Colin’s eyes narrowed as he stared deep into the woods, towards the parting of the trees and when they stepped through, his eyes widened.

A cottage.

A welcoming plume of smoke erupted from a single chimney and the half-door wide open up top. Dennis whined softly at the delicious smells emerging and Colin pushed his brother forward, drawn to the smell. A lovely voice floated from the home and Colin and his brother peeked, eyes narrowed.

The woman was tall and had generous curves draped in beautiful black clothing. They were clearly well-made and she had light hair that spilled down her back. Her skin was pale and her nose aristocratic. The most striking thing about her was her violet eyes, bright with mirth, as she set the meat pie down on the table, using her crooked light-colored wand.

Suddenly, she turned and Colin and Dennis were pinned to their spot. Her lips widened into a wide smile.

“Such pretty children. Welcome to our home. We are Trixie. Would you like to come in?”

* * *

 

**WALL**

* * *

 

Voldemort slowly shut the door to Andromeda’s rooms. The servants were missing though the teapot steamed on the little table between the two grand wooden seats. Voldemort recognized those chairs. His mother had had them last, in her sitting area.

Andromeda waited for him, prim and proper, her broadsword resting across her lap, as if she were ready to pass judgment. Voldemort lifted his chin. He knew that this was his last chance and, it was good that he saved his trump card for the very last time.

“Brother,” Andromeda said, coldly.

“Sister,” Voldemort said, coolly, strolling in and he sat down at the table. He slowly pressed the envelope to the table and slid it over, taking up the tea instead.

He wished it was wine. He always did Andromeda the courtesy of providing wine when their little battles were in his territory.

“Why have you come to me again, Brother? Another push to get me to bend the knee to a boy that I don’t know?” Andromeda drawled.

Voldemort hummed. “I come bearing news and a gift. First, I will be leaving today. I go to Gringotts with the Prince of Gryffindor, to secure a loan. I would ask for the key to the Gryffindor vault,” Voldemort said, holding out his hand and Andromeda raised an eyebrow.

“Why would I have it?” she drawled.

She wasn’t particularly unconvincing.

“Because you aren’t as cunning as you think you are. I know you took it when you ran. Out of misplaced loyalty to our long lost cousin,” Voldemort hissed, his eyes brightening and Andromeda’s lips curled into a sneer.

“Our cousin isn’t lost. You locked him away in Azkaban, you prick,” Andromeda said, nastily.

“Watch your language, _little sister_ ,” Voldemort bit out.

Andromeda snorted. “I’m a woman grown, Tom Marvolo.”

“Call me that one more time and I’ll rip your tongue out, woman,” Voldemort retorted, though his voice lacked any of the previous malice his name may have stirred in him.

Andromeda's lifted an eyebrow. Of course, she noticed that.

“You no longer have an aversion to your true name?” she asked.

“I never--”

“I taste your emotions, brother. I am not a fool. You felt such shame. _Tom_. A common name made for common boys. But, Harry is a common name too, isn’t it? That’s what he is called. Harry Wildfyre. Tom Kingmaker. What a match,” Andromeda taunted and Voldemort took a deep breath, centering himself as he felt his fury freeze over into something murderous.

“The key, Andromeda,” Voldemort prompted.

Andromeda lifted her wand and Summoned a pouch to her. She opened it and pulled out a small ring of keys. The key to Helga's vault, a great bronze thing, a key to the Hogwarts coffers, and finally, a key to Godric's vaults. Slowly, she pulled the key off and tossed it across the table.

“Anything else, brother?” Andromeda sighed.

Voldemort finished the tea, not minding how it scalded his tongue.

“I said I have a gift,” he murmured sliding the envelope to her.

Andromeda picked up the plain envelope, raising an eyebrow.

“What is this?” she snapped.

“Turn it over,” he commanded.

Andromeda rolled her eyes and froze when she saw the seal. The seal of Slytherin. She knew that only someone of their blood could use such a thing.

“Voldemort,” she said, heavily.

“This is a letter from your daughter, Nymphadora Tonks, pleading that you bend the knee to the King, Harry Wildfyre. She explains her story to you and explains the boy to you. If you cannot trust me, trust her,” Voldemort said, carefully. He slowly stood from his chair and looked at her.

She was still frozen, staring down at the letter, the parchment shaking her hands. Her hands were shaking. She was too afraid to open it.

“I will tell you one more time,” Voldemort murmured. “Bend the knee.”

With finality, he spun on his heel and left the room, Disappearing with a sharp crack as he crossed the threshold. He appeared by the gates that led to Karnaron, the South, his stallion waiting just as Severus had promised. Voldemort cleared his throat as he mounted his horse. He looked over his shoulder at the only home he had ever known.

Hogwarts.

It would always be home but, Voldemort knew that a time was coming. A time where he wouldn’t see the castle until they won. He longed for that day.

He looked up and saw _her._

Narcissa Godkiller stared from her window. He was too far to see her expression but, he could imagine her thoughts: _What are you doing? Where are you going? Why do you leave? When do you come back?_

It was all she had asked when she was young, eager to prove herself. She had proved herself. She had to proved to be an enemy and a formidable one at that.

Voldemort’s lips curled into a terrible smile as he lifted his wand and the gates parted, creaking open.

_Narcissa Godkiller, what do you see when you look in the mirror? A god?_

_I see a monster and you were never in the business of killing monsters._

* * *

 

**WHO**

* * *

 

Gabrielle sighed. She had never been happier than she was with Fenrir in his chateau. Every morning, she woke up in a plush bed stuffed with goose feathers and covered in velvet. She rose with the sun and washed, dressed in the fine clothing that Fenrir presented to her. Then, she went to eat breakfast, freshly baked bread. Every morning. Fresh bread. She never had to eat week-old bread, as she had at the shop. There wasn't any mending either.

Only books. After she shared her breakfast with Fenrir, he would go to the city to do his work at _Manoir_ while Gabrielle read all day. She went to the library, the gorgeous library that had hundreds of books and read. She poured over Fenrir's travel journals and his maps, gorging on all of the knowledge. When he returned, he would join her and would tell her the tales that he hadn't recorded. They learned one another. She learned how he enjoyed hunting, and how he had actually come from Albion but, had found that the Republic was better for his political ambitions.

Every night, a decadent meal was prepared by house elves, and Gabrielle feasted better than she had her whole life. She would tell him tales that he hadn’t known and they laughed and joked and sometimes, he kissed her by the fire, but never like he had the first night.

Sometimes, Gabrielle missed her sister.

Other times, she forgot about Fleur entirely.

“Gabrielle, come. This way. I nearly forgot. The reason that I asked you to come here,” Fenrir laughed as he drew her deeper into the library. Gabrielle bit her lower lip as she felt his enormous hand encase hers.

Their hands were both calloused and sure. Hard work had been done with their hands.

“The topographical map!” Gabrielle said, fighting her smile and she nodded. Her palms were clammy, her fingers sticky with the sweets that she gorged herself on.

Fenrir nodded as he drew her into the map room. Old and newer maps were pasted to the walls, connected by red strings that reminded Gabrielle of the stories of the Fateborn. The ones that got names at their birth. Like Narcissa Godkiller and Andromeda Empath.

In the center of the room, on an enormous table was a topographical map. It was gorgeous and old. The sloping hills of Essetir were raised in painted wood. The mountain peaks of the North jutted into the air. The painted blue that represented the Narrow Sea was bridged only by the tiny bridge that was meant to be the Narrow Sea, leading to Afallon. Gabrielle hadn’t realized she gasped as she circled it all, her fingers brushing over the markings of all the rivers and lakes and ponds and forests that made up the Albion Empire.

The map was longer than she was tall, and six times as wide as she.

What a world, separated by a sea and a thousand years.

“It’s...it’s beautiful,” Gabrielle whispered, her voice cracking.

“You are,” Fenrir said.

Gabrielle flushed, looking up at Fenrir. “Fenrir…” she said.

“It isn’t because you’re Veela, either,” Fenrir growled.

Gabrielle flinched. The knowledge had been unspoken between them.

“I’m not…”

“Don’t lie to me, Gabrielle,” Fenrir said, his voice dangerously low. It was the first time that she had heard darkness from him and her eyes widened at it, her skin turning ashen. Fenrir’s eyes softened. “We shouldn’t lie to one another, is all I mean.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Fenrir,” Gabrielle said, quietly. She looked away, turning back to the map.

It was easier to look at the place she longed for. She traced over the edges of Afallon, her other hand reaching far, brushing the edges of Godric’s Hollow.

“You’ve always been fascinated with Afallon, the most,” Fenrir said, quietly.

Gabrielle looked up, wide-eyed. “I’ve always wanted to be like Andromeda Empath. She’s the Warden of the West. Good and just and empathetic and powerful.”

“Are any of the Slytherins ‘good’?” Fenrir challenged.

“Are any of us good either?” Gabrielle retorted and she swallowed taking a step back. “I only know that killing people that are different is wrong. People like us.”

“People like us,” Fenrir murmured and he stepped up, pressing his hands to Gabrielle’s shoulder, sliding his hand down Gabrielle’s arm and grabbing her hand. He pressed it to the hollow that was the middle of the Empire, stretching so far that Gabrielle’s arm ached.

"That is where Hogwarts should be," Gabrielle said, softly, pressing to the hollow where the castle of Hogwarts should've been carved, in the middle of the Four Directions, the major roadways that led into the Forbidden Forest and broke into the thousands of roads that made up Albion's infrastructure.

“It is,” Fenrir allowed.

Gabrielle hummed and then paused as her fingers brushed something round and cold. Her hand closed around it and when she pulled back, she gasped.

It was a simple ring. Steel, like the edge of a blade, or a needle. Gabrielle had no need for frivolous jewels. But, this ring. This _ring_.

“Fenrir,” Gabrielle whispered.

“People like us...there are none like us. But us. I would ask you to be my wife, Gabrielle Delacour,” Fenrir growled.

Gabrielle paused, thinking on his request. It hadn’t been a question. He had phrased it as if he were longing for her, as if he couldn’t possibly contemplate her saying no. As if he couldn’t bear it. Gabrielle swallowed. This man--this rough, animalistic man--saw her for who she was and wanted to take her as his wife anyway. He wanted _her._

“Aye. Then, I would take you for a husband, Fenrir Greyback.”

* * *

 

**IS**

* * *

 

“The goblins are a clever people but, not the most friendly,” Bill said, softly. “I’ve made plenty of deals with the Goblin King and Gringotts as has the Dark Lord. Respect goes far.”

Harry nodded as they approached the great stone building between the parted trees. The Gringotts Bank was enormous and snow-white. It was intimidating and Harry squirmed in the battle robes that Tonks had dressed him in. Tonks squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. Harry hadn't realized that he had stalled until she tugged him forward and he stumbled after her. Voldemort caught him by the waist and squeezed hard.

Harry flushed.

Remus cleared his throat. “Do they know we’re coming?” Remus asked.

“They have heard rumors about the Prince of Gryffindor. I wrote to them and they accepted our meeting. I don’t suspect that they know of the Dark Lord’s presence,” Bill said.

Voldemort tilted his head as he regarded Bill. “So, Gringotts has been dealing with the enemy as well? They are a clever people indeed,” Voldemort said.

Bill flushed, embarrassed.

“We are no longer enemies, Uncle. We are all on the same side,” Tonks snapped roughly as she pulled up her crimson hood and moved forward again, Harry at her side.

They walked up the steps and nearly crossed the threshold when two spears crossed in front of them. Harry blinked madly at the two tall goblins, nearly his height. They were dressed in scarlet and gold, their faces mean and swarthy.

“We come to seek an audience with the Goblin King,” Bill said, standing tall, without a hint of nerves and Harry bit his lower lip, glad that he had chosen his council well. Even if he was nervous, he could trust them not to be.

“Who seeks an audience?” the goblin snarled.

“Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, the true King-Emperor of Albion,” Tonks hissed back, pulling her wand.

Harry winced as he felt something heavy and oppressive emerge. It was like Voldemort’s magic but, sharper. He glanced at Voldemort but Voldemort only stared at his niece, a glint of surprise in his crimson eyes. The goblins slowly moved their spears upright and nodded.

“Enter,” the other goblin said.

The doors swung open and a short entrance hall crafted of marble led to the second pair of doors, this time silver. There were words engraved there:

 

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

 

“Has anyone ever stolen from Gringotts?” Harry asked, curiously.

Voldemort hummed. “Once.”

“Who?” Remus asked, nearly in awe.

“Harry’s grandfather. The great King Gideon. He stole the Sword of Gryffindor. Just as my father stole the Sword of the North. The Sword that once had a name,” Voldemort said, coolly and he looked at Harry with raised eyebrow. “It is good that the sword is lost. They would ask for it back.”

“I would not give it,” Harry snapped.

Voldemort hummed and moved forward, waving his wand. The doors creaked open, revealing a vast marble hall, the floors made of gray stone. The long marble counters were empty except for one that a particularly gnarled dwarf sat at. Bill pointed towards a wide tunnel.

“That way,” Bill said.

“No. I have something on hold,” Voldemort murmured. Remus and Tonks exchanged disbelieving looks as Voldemort strode forward, snatching Harry’s hand from Tonks’. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and pushed him forward, nearly trodding on Harry’s heels. “It is for you.”

“Me?” Harry asked. “I come here because I don’t have any money. There is nothing here for me.”

“There is but one,” Voldemort promised and he looked at the goblin with narrowed eyes. “Bogrod.”

“The Dark Lord Voldemort,” the goblin creaked back, nastily, his eyes narrowed. “Have you come to torture more goblins into submission?”

“Come now, Bogrod, I have been kind in letting you live after the many times you have slighted me. We should part as friends once more if you’d like to keep your life,” Voldemort hissed and he leaned forward, his red eyes glinting. “There is something you have on hold for me. I’d like it.”

Bogrod grinned a horrible grin, full of malice, and pulled forth a box from under the counter, sliding it forward. “Crown your pretty prince.”

Harry’s eyes widened as Voldemort opened the box and revealed a beautifully delicate crown crafted out of silver and steel made to look like branches and red ruby teardrops like leaves. Voldemort lifted the crown and pressed it to Harry’s head. It circled the back of his head, curling over his ears and Voldemort took him by the chin.

“I would be the one to crown my King,” Voldemort murmured.

“Did you...whose crown is this, Tom?” Harry whispered, his voice cracking.

Voldemort’s lips twitched. “It would have been your mother’s.”

Harry opened his mouth and let out a quiet breath. He raised shaking fingers to the steel and silver, brushing his fingers over it.

“Thank you,” he breathed and he took a step back. The Fire in his belly roared and he closed his eyes, thinking of Freia. He opened his eyes again and his breath caught when he saw the soft look in Voldemort’s eyes.

“Harry. The Goblin King doesn’t like to wait,” Bill called, his voice hard.

Harry jerked back and looked towards Tonks, Bill, and Remus. Bill looked annoyed. Tonks, understanding. And Remus looked hurt. A flash of irritation crashed through Harry’s body like a wave. Remus had ignored him for the longest time. Remus could barely make eye contact. He had no reason to judge him. Harry turned back to the empty tunnel and nodded.

“It’s time,” Harry said, his voice cold.

He strode forward, Bill and Voldemort flanking him on either side. Tonks stood just behind Voldemort and Remus stood next to her, their wands drawn. Another set of goblin guards waited at the end of the dark corridor, flanking a pair of ivory doors. They didn’t question Harry and his circle. This time, the doors swung open for them, revealing a round meeting room.

There were two long marble counters again but they were filled, twice as high as Harry. At least fifteen goblins filled the room but, Harry only watched on.

Ragnuk the Goblin King was intimidating in goblin steel, a crown of iron on his head. Harry knew that the Goblin King was no true King but, he also knew that he was in place to try to take the crown off his head. The goblins ruled themselves well.

“Presenting his Eminence, the Great Goblin King Ragnuk, Lord of Steel, Iron, and Gold, the Chosen of the Goblin Hordes,” a goblin announced.

“Thank you, Griphook,” the Goblin King growled. He leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. “The Dark Lord Voldemort comes before me. What brings you before me today? A loan for your sister’s war?”

“No. I come in support of the true King of Albion,” Voldemort said, gesturing towards Harry.

Harry stepped forward when Tonks held out her hand, stepped forward, her eyes flashing. She slowly lowered her hood and lifted her head.

“Nymphadora Tonks,” the goblin announcer rasped.

The goblins broke into whispers and Harry stared at Tonks with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

“Griphook. Goblins of the Horde, you sit in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, and the Fairest of Them All,” Tonks announced and Harry swallowed as she read his titles. The Goblin King looked at Harry and hummed, leaning forward.

“You are fair indeed,” the Goblin King rumbled.

Harry flushed and nodded. “Thank you, your Eminence,” Harry said, his voice soft yet strong. “Have you heard of me?”

“Your name is a whisper on many’s lips. A prayer and a curse, Harry Wildfyre,” Ragnuk allowed. He leaned forward, folding long fingers together. “They speak of your fire and your beauty in equal measure.”

“As they should,” Bill said, firmly.

“William Weasley, you come for another loan though you cannot pay your last. You are lucky your uncles are dead and thus, the contract is void. I should have your entire family destroyed,” Ragnuk snarled with malice even as Bill flinched.

"Lord Prewett," Harry corrected, his voice stronger. "I have named his Lord of House Prewett and he is my Lord of Coin. I would demand the same respect for him as I have shown you, your Eminence. From the moment I have arrived, your subjects have insulted and patronized my most loyal. I would expect respect."

The Goblin King regarded Harry with sudden interest and he leaned forward, eyes wide.

“So, little prince, what is you want?” the Goblin King asked.

Harry lifted his chin. He didn’t look back at Voldemort, keeping his eyes trained on Ragnuk. His shrewd eyes were nearly mocking.

“My birthright. The Albion Empire,” Harry declared sharply.

The goblins all looked at each other with dark eyes, lips pulled back into smarmy grins, exposing their sharp pointed teeth. The smugness of it all made Harry vibrate with irritation. He felt a hand press to the small of his back in warning. Harry took a deep breath. Voldemort was right. There was a time and place for fury. This was not it.

“I fear we are no better than a servant in this regard. We cannot give you what we do not have,” Ragnuk drawled and Harry cleared his throat, taking a step closer. He disregarded the shifting goblin guards, their weapons glinting dangerously.

"I'm not asking you for the empire. I'm asking you for gold. A loan," Harry said. "I need coin to feed and clothe my armies, to forge weapons, to create alliances, to build ships. Whatever you grant me now will be repaid three times over when I retake the Gilded Throne."

Ragnuk laughed again, shaking his head. “Retake? Did you once sit on the Gilded Throne, little prince?”

“My grandfather sat there, before he was murdered. That throne belonged to my mother. _He_ will tell you the same,” Harry barked, gesturing towards the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Ragnuk turned his black gaze on the Dark Lord. Voldemort didn’t flinch under his gaze.

“Oh, we know all about the Dark Lord. Slytherins always repay their debts, but do you?” Ragnuk asked, softly. His gaze was curious, as all of their gazes were. They always wondered what was it about the pretty little prince that could sway the Dark Lord away from his horde of sisters. It was always there in their eyes. Harry’s lips curled into a snarl. “You did not sit on the Gilded Throne yourself, nor did your mother. So, if this is true, would it not be correct to say ‘take’ the Gilded Throne?”

“We aren’t here to argue grammar,” Voldemort snapped. Harry winced. It was the first time he had spoken the entire time and he sounded less than pleased by the way this was going.

“Of course not, my Lord,” Ragnuk said. It didn’t escape Harry’s notice that the goblins addressed the Dark Lord with the respect Harry himself deserved. “You ask for a loan. Wars are expensive, little prince. I do not doubt your honesty. Nor your intentions. But, before you could even think of repaying your debts, you would have to take control of the empire. Do you have an army?”

“I have the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters,” Harry said, firmly.

Ragnuk hummed, as if he were _nearly_ impressed. “A band of traitors and the Dark Lord’s knights. But, not an army. The King Draco has an army of 40,000 and counting. His naval forces are large. 6000 ships. Do you have powerful allies?”

“The Dark Lord,” Harry said.

“One ally,” Ragnuk drawled.

The entire goblin board broke into hissing sounds. It only took a moment for Harry to realize that they were _laughing_ at him.

“Forgive us, little prince, but we do not make investments based on wishes and dreams. You may leave,” Ragnuk dismissed.

Harry took a step forward. “I will not--” Harry began.

“Do you know Pandora?” Tonks demanded.

Voldemort stiffened.

Ragnuk fell quiet. “Yes,” he breathed. “A powerful witch.”

“Pandora foresaw his coming. She gave her daughter a stone that she gave to the Dark Lord,” Tonks said, pointedly, nodding. Harry cleared his throat

“At my lowest point, I set my world afire without a wand and birthed a dragon from petrified stone. A _dragon_. The last time dragons roamed the skies, the Founders slayed them all. _I_ did that. I am not ordinary man,” Harry declared angrily.

Ragnuk stared at him with a strange look. He leaned forward. “Fire? You control fire? And you have a dragon?”

“Yes,” Harry said, firmly.

“Wyrdfod,” Ragnuk breathed, softly.

“What was that, Ragnuk?” Voldemort barked.

Ragnuk fell back into his chair, shaking his large bald head. “I admire your passion. But, in business, I trust in logic, not passion. I am sorry, little prince.”

Harry’s lips curled back into a snarl.

“I am _not_ your little prince,” he hissed. “I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions and Protector of the Realm, and I will take what is mine! With fire and _blood_.”

And for the first time, Ragnuk looked like he believed him. The Goblin King leaned back in seat, folding his long fingers together.

“Strong words, Harry Wildfyre,” Ragnuk said.

Harry lifted his chin. "I can get allies. The Warden of the West will bend the knee to me. Alfheim comes to my aid."

“Is that so?” Ragnuk laughed. “Well, then, Harry Wildfyre, if the Lady Warden of the West bends the knee to you, and you secure Alfheim, we will grant you your loan and our undying _support_ of your claim.”

Harry smiled, brightly. “Done.”

* * *

 

**FAIREST**

* * *

 

“You are a _reckless_ little fool. _You’re_ not the one that will get the support of the Warden of the West. You’re not the one that will destroy relations with the goblins if you can’t c--” Voldemort ranted as they left the great white stone building.

He was cut off by soft, red lips pressed against his. As if on instinct, Voldemort looped an arm around Harry’s waist and crushed him against his body, kissing him back. Harry sucked on his lower lip before stumbling away, laughing, his eyes bright. He ignored the looks on Bill and Remus’ face, instead looking up at Voldemort. Harry reached out again, greedily, pulling their faces together.

This time, the kiss was sweeter. Soft and longing, full of breathy noises. Harry pulled back again, his eyes soft as he looked up at Voldemort. Harry bit his lower lip, as if he realized what he had just done. Voldemort’s arm tightened around him as they looked at each other and simply breathed the same air. Voldemort opened his mouth to berate Harry and then shut it again, as if he couldn’t think of anything cutting to say.

“You worry too much,” Harry said, his voice soft before he pulled away with an air of finality and turned to Remus and Bill. Remus stared at him with disapproval, Bill with shock. Harry looked at Tonks. “I can do this. We can do this. Your mother will bend the knee.”

“She will,” Tonks said, earnestly, so loyal as she always was.

“We will secure Alfheim and move the camp to the safety of Afallon,” Harry said, earnestly. He turned to his followers and nodded, his eyes wide with hope. “The goblins will support us. Once we have the support of Gringotts, Alfheim, and all of Afallon, it is only a matter of time until I sit on the Gilded Throne.”

“There is a long, bloody war between you and the Gilded Throne, Harry,” Remus reminded him and Harry nodded in agreement as he strode forward towards his horse, mounting it.

Gringotts was a two-day ride away from the camp. There was no time to lose. There was planning to be done.

“Aye, there is. And I intend to win it,” Harry said as he squeezed his thighs. His horse trotted forward over to Voldemort as the Dark Lord mounted his horse. Harry leaned over, curious about the look in his eyes. “What is it, Tom?”

“Why did you do that?” Voldemort asked as they began to trot into the forest, Bill, Tonks, and Remus mounted their horses, speaking softly amongst themselves. They were no doubt gossiping.

“Do what?” Harry asked innocently.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “You are reckless, not stupid and certainly not hard of hearing.”

“Oh, you mean...why I kissed you?” Harry teased, his eyes bright with mirth. “Does it matter?”

“I think it does. You go around kissing every man?” Voldemort asked, reaching forward and grabbing the reins of Harry’s horse, dragging him closer until their horses walked together, in step. Harry breathed softly, eyes wide.

“No. Of course not,” Harry whispered, all mirth gone. Voldemort’s eyes blazed as he searched his face for something. “I just...I wanted to.”

“You wanted to?” Voldemort repeated.

“You aren’t hard of hearing either, Tom,” Harry retorted, flushing as he looked away. He sighed, softly. “I wanted to.”

“Have you ever wanted to?” Voldemort asked, his voice soft. “Truly wanted to?”

 _Inwi nwaly ten’ke_.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Not before you.”

* * *

 

**OF**

* * *

 

“Come on! Come on, Dennis!” Colin shrieked, breathing heavily as they ran through the dense woods, eyes stricken wide in terror.

The woman had seemed so nice. Odd since she spoke as if she were many, but she was beautiful with purple eyes, and light hair spilling out from under her cloak hood. She had tried to teach them magic and Conjured up so many sweets and good food for them, stuffing their bellies and minds with food and knowledge. And then, the knife had come out and she had been demanding Dennis’ help in tieing Colin up so that she could eat his _heart._

Colin's stomach warred between terror and revulsion as they ducked under long hanging tree branches and leaped over roots. Dennis' foot caught and he let out a yelp. Colin pulled him tighter, yanking him up for he could crash into the dirt ground.

Colin looked over his shoulder.

He couldn’t see her but, he could feel her. Her magic was restrained but it lashed out, searching for him, stalking him. Colin yelped as a spell crashed over his head that he ducked under.

“Colin! I-I can’t...I can’t,” Dennis panted, softly.

“You’ve got to. She’ll kill us!” Colin insisted. His eyes narrowed at the parting between the trees.

Dennis was practically wheezing. Another red jet of magic shot over their heads, scorching a tree. The sound of talking began to grow louder. “People! People, Dennis!”

Dennis seemed to speed up at his brother’s words and pulled ahead, brows furrowed in concentration and then, they were crashing into the light, falling to their knees and panting, loudly.

“Help!” Colin wheezed.

He looked up and then froze, his terror multiplied.

Dark crimson eyes stared down at him from an angular face. The Dark Lord Voldemort was a handsome man indeed. The end of his wand was less so, even as it glowed green. Colin roll on top of Dennis, covering him and squeezed his eyes shut. He prepared to meet his death.

“Tom.”

The voice was soft and beautiful, lilting. Colin’s eyes opened slowly and the Dark Lord drew back to the side of the speaker, sitting down on the log at his side. Colin stared, his jaw unhinging.

“Hello,” he said.

He was the most beautiful person that Colin had ever seen in his life. He was pale with thick black hair wild around his face. Large green eyes were set into his pleasing face, and his lips were plush and red as blood. Slowly, he stood, setting down a bowl of a red broth that looked like blood. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stared, curiously.

"Who are you?" Dennis whispered, his voice muffled by the dirt. Colin rolled off his younger brother and sat up on his knees, waiting with bated breath.

“I am Harry,” the man said.

“You look too pretty to be a Harry,” Dennis said, and then flushed, humiliated.

Harry tossed his head back and laughed, shaking with his humor. Colin looked around at Harry's companions. The Dark Lord stayed at his side, moving when he moved. There were two more men, an ash-haired man, and a young redheaded man. And a woman with bright _pink_ hair, her dress low enough to expose the swell of her breasts. Colin flushed when the woman winked at him, noticing his staring.

“Well, thank you,” Harry murmured. “I am sorry that the Dark Lord frightened you. You need help?”

“Harry,” the Dark Lord warned.

“Tom,” Harry responded back, teasingly.

The Dark Lord rolled his eyes and cuffed Harry on the chin, tilting his head up, his expression indecipherable. Harry's lips curled into a wide smile and he stepped back and turned towards the two boys, kneeling down in front of them.

“Harry,” the pink-haired woman drawled. “You have food to finish.”

Harry waved her away. “I’d much rather find out who these charming boys are than finish a bowl of clotted blood and dried lion meat, thank you very much,” Harry drawled and he smiled, sweetly. “What are your names?”

“C-Colin Creevey. And my little brother, Dennis,” Colin stammered. He pulled Dennis closer into his side. “We were...we were leaving home and we came across this lady and she was really nice. But, then...she wanted to _eat_ us.”

“Lamia,” the ash-haired man said. The group turned back and stared. “Sounds like a lamia. Lamia eat children.”

“We’re not kids! I’m twelve and Colin is thirteen,” Dennis protested and then he flushed again, hiding his face in Colin’s shoulder. Harry smiled, sweetly and reached forward, grabbing his hand.

“I know. I’m glad that you found us. We’ll protect you,” Harry insisted, and Colin could see the swords that were gathered near the horses tied to the trees, the battle armor that the party wore and Colin leaned forward.

“Who...who are you?” he whispered.

Harry grinned. “I’m Harry Wildfyre, of Houses Gryffindor and Potter. I’m the Fairest of Them All.”

And in the darkness of the trees, Bellatrix Slytherin watched, her eyes following the Fairest as he pulled the two boys to their feet and drew them closer to the fire. Bellatrix watched her twin brother, the one she had known since they were nothing but seed, water, and blood, follow him, his crimson eyes staring at Harry Wildfyre like he was the sun, blinding but beautiful. Bellatrix’s stomach turned as Voldemort-- _her brother_ \-- leaned down to whisper in Harry Wildfyre’s ear.

The Fairest was beautiful, indeed, and Voldemort had always adored beautiful things.

And though Bellatrix looked young once more, she now knew what she looked like when she was close to death--nothing but skin and hate and bones. She knew what she looked when she was _ugly_ and she still was ugly. Unlike this beautiful, beautiful young man that drew the eyes of everyone, that entranced them so much that they didn’t notice her watching.

Harry Wildfyre. The Fairest of Them All.

Bellatrix’s lips curled into a terrible smile.

_I will make you ugly, too._

* * *

 

**THEM**

* * *

 

“Daphne, darling, you are quite stunning,” Pansy simpered as she fixed her tea, taking a sip of it and humming in approval.

Hermione watched the two from the corner of her eye even as she tried to focus all of her attention on fixing herself a cuppa. Ever since Daphne had been summoned to court with her brother, she had been the center of attention. They had accepted her immediately in a way that they hadn't with her. Pansy, Millicent Bulstrode, and their sycophants all fawned over her, even as Daphne practically ignored them.

Hermione wasn’t sure if she envied Daphne or pitied the poor girl.

"Thank you. You've said. Many times," Daphne said, her voice carefully soft. Pansy flushed as she was reminded again. Daphne's lips twitched.

Narcissa looked up from her books, looking between all of the girls.

“Girls, needlework,” Narcissa instructed carefully.

The girls nodded and pretended to go back to their needlework but, Hermione was the only one that continued to sew. It was a cloak for Draco, and only his betrothed should work on it--according to Narcissa, after all. She was working on the stitchwork for the snake sigil but, Hermione’s forte had never been sewing.

“Oh, Daphne, the King seems quite taken by you. He watches you in court. And how could he not? You are just to his taste. Noble, beautiful, and compassionate,” Pansy drawled on, shooting a poisonous smile to Hermione.

Hermione’s fingers shook and she cursed quietly when she pricked her finger.

“Hermione?” Daphne asked, worriedly.

“Nothing,” Hermione said shakily, pressing her bleeding finger to her mouth, sucking it clean. She ignored Narcissa’s icy stare.

“Is stitchwork not to your forte, Lady Granger? Perhaps, Daphne should work on the King’s cloak. She’s quite good,” Millicent interjected.

Hermione’s jaw clenched. She wanted to show Millicent just how good _she_ was with a wand.

“Enough,” Narcissa barked. Millicent and Pansy looked up, eyes wide like startled toddlers. “Lady Granger is the King’s betrothed. You shan’t shame her by speaking of another Lady.”

Pansy swallowed, flushing a terrible splotchy red. Daphne looked cold, her eyes darting between Narcissa and Hermione. Hermione cleared her throat and stood, bringing the cloak to Narcissa. Narcissa set aside her parchments and papers, staring up at Hermione with blue eyes. Hermione did not forget Narcissa’s warning.

_Power is power._

“My Lady, I beg your leave. I am feeling overtired. I ask that you finish this cloak for your son, my intended,” Hermione said, her words carefully chosen.

Narcissa raised a blonde eyebrow and nodded once. “Yes, Lady Granger. Leave it here.”

Hermione laid the cloak next to Narcissa and left the woman’s suites. She kept her chin up as she passed them all and ignored the way Daphne brushed her fingers against the inside of her wrist. She would show no weakness. She was Hermione Granger, and she was no Lady. She was Hermione Granger, the Muggleborn bitch that would hold an empire by its balls once she married that prick. If she could not escape, she would use her power for good.

_Knowledge is power. Power is power._

Hermione’s step grew more confident with every step, her eyes narrowing.

She turned up the moving ever-shifting staircases, going towards her own rooms. The maids and servants all stepped out of her way, bowing as she walked along the stone floors.

The Dark Lord didn’t seem to be doing a thing. Andromeda was idle too.

Narcissa would have an enemy in Hermione, then.

Hermione paused when she turned a corner and saw Luna and Rodolphus together again, pressed into an alcove near her rooms. He was so much taller than her, crowding her against the stone, pressing kiss to her jaw, to her cheeks to her mouth. Luna reveled in it, running hands up and down the man's chest.

“Luna,” Hermione barked.

Luna peeled herself away from Rodolphus, a defiant look in her gray eyes. She stood on her heels and pressed a final kiss to Rodolphus' lips before she moved towards her Lady. Luna glanced over her shoulder at the man.

“Tell your Lord my words. Soon,” Luna said, forebodingly.

Rodolphus nodded. Hermione’s brow furrowed into an angry snarl and grabbed Luna’s hand, jerking her into her rooms and slamming the door shut. Luna yanked her hand away, staring narrow-eyed at Hermione. Her nostrils were flared.

“Luna, you shouldn’t be near him!” Hermione snapped.

“I’ve been near Rodolphus my entire life here at this castle. And before you ask, I haven’t been with him very long. I only kissed him, for the first time, when I turned 16. And I’ve been in love with him much longer,” Luna said, sharply.

Hermione scoffed. “Luna, I know all about men and their ways. Men are cruel and terrible and will say anything to get near your cunt. The king, my stepbrother--”

Luna yanked down the bodice of her dress and Hermione recoiled at the sight. There were scars marking the front of her, down to her belly. Bite marks on her sides and the raised scars caused by nails. Half of her left nipple looked raw and scarred, as if it had healed messily. Luna pulled her dress back up.

“What? You think you are the only woman to suffer at the hands of a bad man?” Luna spat.

Hermione flinched. Luna was cold, staring at her with bone-chillingly gray eyes, so pale that they looked like tiny moons in her round face.

“No. That’s not what I meant,” Hermione said.

"There are many bad men in the world, Hermione Granger," Luna said, sharply. "Rodolphus is a good one. He killed a deathless man for me. A man that my mother trapped and to take revenge, he did this to me. Rodolphus has done _much_ for me.”

“He’s a Death Eater,” Hermione began.

“As is Barty Crouch, but I see the way you look at him,” Luna retorted. She took a step forward and then paused. Slowly, she took a deep breath, centering herself. Her eyes grew wide and soft again. “Hermione, when I was a girl, the Dark Lord saved me.”

“I know. I remember,” Hermione said, her voice soft.

"Rodolphus and Rabastan came with him. They saved me but, they couldn't save my mother. And my mother...had many enemies. The most dangerous of them all was the Peverell Brothers, particularly the eldest," Luna explained, knotting her fingers in her skirts. She sighed and looked up, shaking her head.

“The Peverell Brothers are a myth,” Hermione said, immediately.

Luna’s lips twitched. “If only,” she laughed. “My mother made an enemy of the three brothers that beat Death but, it was the eldest that posed the most threat. Antioch Peverell held a wand called the Deathstick, an unbeatable wand. But, somehow, my mother separated him from it and entombed him. But, when she died...it caused the release of Antioch.”

Hermione could imagine where this story was going.

“And so, he came for you,” Hermione murmured.

Luna nodded.

“The Dark Lord had sent me on my way. He didn’t know,” Luna said, forlornly, her voice cracking.

“Oh, Luna,” Hermione rasped.

"Antioch came for me. The Dark Lord only doubled back on a feeling but, not until this had happened. He didn't rape me. He preferred to brand me. Humiliate me. As my mother did to him.

"The Dark Lord and the Lestranges did all that they could to protect me but, a duel ended it all. I knew the stories. My mother had told them all to me, and so, I knew where she hid his death, for with the wand, he was Deathless. I took them to the place and they dueled him. In that battle, Rodolphus was blinded in one eye but, in the end, it was he that slaughtered Antioch," Luna said, her voice impossibly soft and full of the sweetest of loves. It made Hermione ache to see that beautiful look in her eyes.

 

“You owed him a life debt. Not your love,” Hermione insisted.

Luna’s eyes narrowed. “And yet he has my love anyway. He is a good man. A better man than any other man I know. I love him and, you are my friend and Lady. Accept this, please.”

And against her better judgment, Hermione nodded.

* * *

 

**ALL?**

* * *

 

“I...I read the letter,” Andromeda said, her voice hoarse.

She had read Nymphadora’s letter a thousand times. She had read it so much, she could recall every word, the way the letters curved on the page. The words, speaking of her long journey, all that she had gone through to arrive at the camp of the Order of the Phoenix. The blood that marked it as truly Nymphadora. The wax seal that erased all of Andromeda’s doubts.

“Did you?” Voldemort said as Andromeda walked, ghostlike, into his study. He poured wine into two goblets of wine and he offered one to her. Andromeda took it and drank it, heartily, wine spilling from the corners of her lips.

Voldemort’s lips curled into a sneer.

“She truly...you didn’t kill her. She lives,” Andromeda whispered, as if the thought terrified her.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, smugness radiating from him. It was always a pleasure when he could shock the great Andromeda Empath.

“I am no Kinslayer,” Voldemort said instead, daintily sipping his wine. He sat on the loveseat and gestured to the chair across from him. Andromeda sat down, her burgundy and chainmail gown clinking with every step. His warrior sister, in shock.

“You aren’t...a Kinslayer,” Andromeda whispered.

“No. Does this evidence suffice? Will you bend the knee to King Harry Wildfyre?” Voldemort asked.

Andromeda nodded, absently, looking down at the parchment, crumpled in her tight fist.

“You are a greedy liar. You cannot fault me for thinking that you were lying to me again,” Andromeda said.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your tongue, sister. You are in shock, trepidation. You fear that she will not know you when you see her again for the first time in decades. You fear what will come to pass if she doesn’t want you but, you will watch your tongue after I give you what you have wanted. How ungrateful.”

Andromeda’s nostrils flared and she finished her wine, slamming the empty glass down, angrily.

“You will dissect me now? Tell me _my_ greatest fears?” Andromeda snarled. She knew fear. She tasted it. She could taste her brother’s rage, his solemnity. It drove her mad.

“I promised you your greatest desire, dear sister. Now, you have it. You have _everything_ to lose. You will bend the knee, right? I gave you what you wanted. And now, you will give me what I want,” he said.

“And what is it that you want _now_? You always take and take and take, but never give. But, I can’t say that, can I?” Andromeda growled. “I tell you I’ll bend the knee to this boy I’ve never met, risking the lives of my people and you still want more. What _more_ do you want from me?”

Voldemort’s lips twitched into a secret smile.

"You must give him sanctuary when we ask for it. Do you want to protect your people? So, does he. He has a whole refugee camp and Afallon is self-sufficient, unlike Essetir or Orcate. You and your soldiers will fight in his name until he has a crown on his head and empire under his feet. And if he dies, oh, dear sister, you think you know fear...you know _nothing_ ,” Voldemort hissed and he pulled away from Andromeda, laughing softly at the look on her face.

Andromeda looked drained and she snarled when she saw that the pitcher of wine was empty.

“He owns you. You would threaten your blood...for _him_?” Andromeda demanded. Voldemort looked at his sister through narrowed eyes, wondering if he should speak his truth. He should. Andromeda would taste his lies anyway.

“I would ravage this entire empire. I would burn my mother’s bones, and if he asked it of me, I would abandon you all. I took a Vow. You think you know me, Andromeda Slytherin, but, you know nothing.”

Andromeda faltered and she took a step closer to him. She looked like she wanted to say something but, thought better of it. She swallowed and nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm kinda digging this once a week schedule. It really lets me put out quality content. What I'm not digging is the two review a chapters for thousands of words of work. I hope people are still reading this. It's kinda discouraging. Hopefully, I'll break 100 reviews soon. I just remember having so many the last time this story was up. A lot of reviews for much shittier content. Whatever. Just wanted to rant.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're enjoying where the story is heading. I have the rest of ARC TWO plotted out and outlined entirely. I don't have much of the next chapter written but I know exactly what needs to be written, so that's good. It's going to be a doozy. ARC TWO's final chapter will be CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX. Lots of awesome shit is gonna happen soon.
> 
> UNTIL NEXT TIME!


	5. Chapter Five

Fleur looked up as the bell rang at her door.

She always looked up, hoping for a glimpse of Gabrielle. Every time the bell rang, in the split second it to raise her head, Fleur felt her stomach twist into a pit of hope. Every time, she was disappointed again and again. Usually, it was a customer, and Fleur had to fight to keep her face from falling into despair. Fleur had taken to praying for her sister’s safety, praying that the Maiden of the Dtrwies would keep her safe, though Fleur had no knowledge as to whether her sister was still a maiden or not.

This time. The only time, she was not disappointed.

“Gabrielle!” Fleur gasped, flying around the counter and throwing her arms around the girl. Gabrielle returned the hug just as tight, burying her face in Fleur’s shoulder. Fleur pulled back, keeping her hands tight on Gabrielle’s shoulders so that she could look at the young woman. The pit in her stomach grew as she looked at the younger Delacour.

Gabrielle looked radiant in the worst way possible.

Her face was still round, her nose upturned. She still looked like herself. But, Gabrielle’s blonde hair glowed nearly silver. She looked Veela. Fleur flinched away from her as she looked at her baby sister.

“You need a veil. Let me get one for you,” Fleur said, hurriedly.

Gabrielle shook her head. “No. No, Fleur. Fenrir says that we shouldn’t hide who we are. He _is_ like us.”

"He's a man and a man of government, at that. Of course, he doesn't have to hide," Fleur said, sharply and she tugged Gabrielle deeper into the shop. She pulled her wand and flicked it, turning the sign so that the door was marked as closed and the lock clicked shut. "Now, come."

“ _No_ ,” Gabrielle insisted, yanking herself from Fleur so violently that she nearly stumbled. “Fenrir is a good man. He’ll protect me.”

Fleur froze. _He’ll protect me._ As in, he would continue to do so. Gabrielle had not been home for days and she didn’t seem to be planning to return.

“He will? You’re not coming home?” Fleur whispered.

Gabrielle flushed.

“I couldn’t leave my husband,” Gabrielle whispered.

Fleur’s heart shattered.

“No...Gabrielle. Tell me you _didn’t_ ,” Fleur begged, her eyes stinging with unshed tears as Gabrielle flinched away from her touch. Her stomach revolted and she waited for Gabrielle to answer, to say that she _didn’t_.

“Well. Not yet,” Gabrielle allowed, showing off her hand.

It was a simple ring, silver and broad. There weren’t any embellishments, nor would it get caught on anything while Gabrielle was out and about.

It suited Gabrielle well.

That might’ve hurt Fleur the most. Fenrir Greyback knew her sister well enough to buy a ring to her tastes. He knew about the places that Gabrielle wanted to go, knew about the people Gabrielle wanted to meet, and could provide her with the life that Fleur had broken her back to provide. He could give Gabrielle the freedom that Fleur couldn’t afford and the adventure that Fleur had never craved for herself. The knowledge festered like an open wound, seeping with pus.

“You’re going to marry him,” Fleur said, brokenly.

Gabrielle hesitated.

"I...I am," she said as if she couldn't believe it herself. "Fenrir is good and kind and he understands me. And I could grow to love him."

“You don’t love him already? Then why marry him?” Fleur demanded.

“Because he can protect us,” Gabrielle said, firmly. “Come to the chateau. You’ll understand. If I marry him, you’ll never have to worry about the shop being repossessed or having to work late into the night to make ends meet. You can practice your prophecy in peace. You never have to worry about someone catching you talking about the Dtrwies. You’ll never have to wear your veil again!”

Fleur scoffed. “I love my veil! And I don’t mind having to work hard to provide for you, for me, for our _family_!  Fenrir Greyback can’t protect us from the entire government of the Republic, the people that murdered our parents, the people he works for because he is _complacent._ You need protection from Fenrir Greyback!”

Her words echoed in the shop and Gabrielle recoiled as if she had been slapped. Gabrielle looked at her and Fleur slowly looked up and to her left, straight into the mirror. She hissed.

Her veil had burned away, revealing long silvery hair and her skin had turned harsh and dark. She could feel her face twinging as if it wanted to pull into the cruel beak that it had become only once in her entire life, the night her parents had died. Her shoulder blades shuddered under her skin, scales sliding up the dips in her spine.

Fleur looked back at the open window and squawked, wandlessly Summoning a spare veil to her hand in desperation. She hooked it around her face and shuddered, pulling back.

“I’m not coming back here,” Gabrielle whispered. “I refuse to live in fear. _Alohomora._ ”

The shop lock clicked open.

Gabrielle turned on her heel and walked from the shop, her head held high.

Fleur refused to weep.

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Fawkes trilled, far from a phoenix's lament. It was a call and the fire responded, burning brighter as Harry went on. Freia shrieked in response, clawing around the edges of the paddock, careful not to push past the boundaries. Some of his followers jumped, still frightened by the dragon that was now approaching the size of a very large horse. Her shriek comforted Harry, pushed him forward, and he swallowed the bile that rose in his throat to accompany the gamey chewy flesh that he swallowed.

They were gathered around him, in total silence, staring down at him. Only the Dark Lord moved, circling him, casting him looks of encouragement or contempt—Harry was too out of his head to tell. He swallowed another rough piece of meat and shuddered, letting out a sickening noise. Tonks hissed and shook her head, nodding at him. Harry nodded back. He couldn’t give up.

He lifted the lion's heart to his mouth and took another large bite of the gamey meat, the blood smearing over his chin.

He looked up again and the caught the eye of Ron Weasley. His face was green but he endured.

Only warriors could witness this event. Only warriors belong.

“He has to eat the whole heart?” Ron muttered to Madame McGonagall who watched impassively. He had taken well to being under her wing, training to be her successor.

“He’s doing well,” McGonagall allowed.

“This shit is unnecessary. We should be planning our next move,” Moody grumbled.

Remus shook his head. “It’s completely necessary. Court won’t accept him if he doesn’t complete this,” Remus argued.

Ron groaned, holding his own belly.

“He’ll never keep it down,” Moody said, nastily.

They watched as Voldemort kneeled in front of Harry, watching him as the young man brought the lion's heart up to his mouth again. He didn't touch him. Harry had to do it by sheer force of will. Ron looked between the two. Their connection was raw and emotional and _wrong_ in so many ways but, when Harry looked into those hateful red eyes, he tore into the heart. There wasn’t much left to go.

“He’ll do it. He has to. He’s Harry,” Ron disagreed, his voice hushed.

Voldemort reached forward, brushing Harry’s hair away from his mouth as Harry stuffed the last bit of the lion’s heart into his mouth. The Dark Lord threw himself back as Harry wretched, falling forward onto his hands and knees.

There was a long beat as Harry groaned, softly, to himself, and then he sat up, falling back on his haunches and very pointedly swallowed.

“He did it!” Fred cried out, happily, and he turned to his brother, and they grabbed each other, leaping up and down. “He did it! He did it! He did it!”

Harry tilted his head back and laughed as the witnesses turned to each other, and congratulated one another as if they had accomplished it all. Tonks and Voldemort only had eyes for Harry. Voldemort smirked. He walked away as Tonks rushed up and fell to he knees at Harry's side. She tugged him into a tight embrace.

“Well done, Harry,” she whispered against his temple and Harry hugged her back.

“Wasn’t easy,” he murmured into her neck.

Tonks pulled back, holding him by his shoulders. Her lips tilted into an impish grin.

“It didn’t look it,” she murmured as she lifted her wand at his face. “ _Tergeo_.”

Harry winced as the strangely tightening feeling of his skin and he touched his jaw as the drying lion’s blood was siphoned away. Tonks nodded, approvingly and she sat back, smiling softly at Harry’s face. Harry flushed under her stare.

“What?” he muttered.

"I'm just really proud of you. I imagine this is what it feels like to be proud of a younger brother," Tonks said, softly and Harry flushed, pleased with her words, and he looked up and around at the people that watched them.

Harry slowly stood to his feet, pulling Tonks up with him. Freia shrieked in his ear, nudging her large head against the small of his back, and Harry reached back, absently patting her on the head. She was probably starving but she would have to wait.He looked at Madame McGonagall. She nodded at him, full of approval.

“Sometimes, you look just like your father but, ethereal. But, you have your mother’s eyes. You are so much like your mother,” she said, her voice stern.

Harry’s lips pulled into a wide smile. Before he could thank her for her words, there was a quiet yowl. Harry looked over as Voldemort returned, something cradled in his arms, and Harry crept forward. He could feel Freia’s hot, curious breath on his neck.

“Tom?” Harry murmured, just soft enough that only the three of them could hear.

"When I ate the heart of a snake, I was awarded a python who has been my closest companion for decades. When you eat of a lion, you gain a lion's heart," Voldemort declared, his voice booming and quieting nearly everyone. Harry almost jumped. In all his time of knowing the Dark Lord, Harry hadn't ever heard him so loud.

And then Harry gasped as Voldemort pressed the bundle into his arms, and Harry looked into the amber eyes of a small white albino lion cub. He looked up, wide-eyed.

“He’s beautiful,” Harry murmured, cuddling the cub to his chest as it yowled and batted its claws at Harry’s chest. The Dark Lord must’ve spelled them because they only felt like tickles to Harry.

“She,” Voldemort corrected. “This lion cub will be yours to train as Freia was yours. She will be your constant companion as my Nagini has been to me. She will go to war with you and you will go to war for her.”

Harry nodded in agreement, and he looked around at them all. Moody and Fendwick both looked like they had swallowed something sour. Harry lifted his head in triumph, smirking at them all before he turned to look at his Horntail. Freia slithered forward, pressing her large head against the squirming bundle in Harry’s arms.

“Be nice, Freia,” Harry warned. “This is...Hedwig. Her name is Hedwig, and she’ll be taking some of my attention now because she’s a baby but, I love you both equally. I promise.”

Tonks snorted. “You speak to them like they’re children.”

“They are my children,” Harry snapped back with a small smile and he turned to Hagrid, beckoning him over with a toss of his head. Hagrid lumbered over even as Voldemort’s lips curled in distaste. “Hagrid, can you feed her? She looks—how old is she?”

"Two months. She was part of a traveling circus that was crossing through the North," Voldemort said, firmly. Harry nodded and he turned back to Hagrid.

“Yeh go it, yer Grace. I’ll take care of ‘er,” Hagrid said, excitedly. Harry smiled brightly at the large man and he gently handed over Hedwig to him, pressing a kiss to the top of the cub’s head.

“I’ll come get her later. I want to change out of my blood-soaked clothes first,” Harry explained and he turned away, and just as he was about to make a move to the Burrow II, the entire crowd fell silent as the sound of the phoenix’s lament echoed above them.

Harry watched as Fawkes soared around his head and the phoenix’s song made him want to weep. He drew his wand from his pocket as he felt it vibrating and looked to Voldemort. Voldemort stared at his own wand, his brow furrowed as it trembled in his hand. Fawkes let out a long sorrowful note, circling their heads, his long tail brushing across their cheeks, one last time before he disappeared in a burst of fire.

“Where did he go?” Ron asked, loudly, breaking the tense silence.

Harry felt his heart in his throat.

“He’s gone. He won’t come back,” Harry said, thinking of Fawkes, the last connection to his mother, and his chin dropped to his chest as he fought off the sudden stinging tears that welled.

“You no longer need him,” Voldemort said, soft and sure, tilting Harry’s chin up so that he could stare into those wide green orbs. “He was your mother’s and he watched over you for her.”

“Then, why did he leave?” Harry demanded.

“You are the _King_. He has gone to join her bones. His time is dead but, you _live_ ,” Voldemort insisted with such conviction that Harry swallowed all of his sorrow. “You are the last lion in this world.”

Harry looked over at the Weasleys, eyes wide. Ginny stepped forward, raising her chin, never ashamed of speaking out.

“Another title for the Fairest, then,” Fred called, laughing brashly.

“Alpha of the Pride,” George agreed.

And it sounded grand and right, and Harry’s lips pulled into a wide grin. He said nothing else, only nodding. He turned back to Voldemort but, the man looked conflicted, his brow furrowed. Harry turned back to the people, watching him, waiting. He stepped forward even as Voldemort cleared his throat, as if to stop him.

"King Draco and his mother think he can take what he wants. That no one can stop him! But, we will send him a message!" Harry shouted. "I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter! I am the Prince that was lost and forgotten but, no longer. I am the King of the empire and I shall take it and give it to all of you, the people that deserve it! If you fight with me—my brothers, my sisters—we will show him that they _cannot_ take what they want. That this? This land belongs to us! And when I sit on the Gilded Throne, know this: everything that I do is in the name of you all! I will not falter. I will not break! I am no phoenix. I do not burn to be reborn. I am a lion and I choose you all, as my pride! Will you fight with me?”

And they _roared_ for him, without hesitation. Harry nodded as the fire burned brighter around him, building until it surrounded them and Freia threw back her head and roared, a plume of flames escaping into the air, nearly blinding them. Harry turned to the Dark Lord. Voldemort looked at him, his face expressionless. Harry held up his chin, and instead, he turned to walk through the flames towards the cottage.

He knew that Voldemort would follow him.

Harry walked into the cottage and went straight up the stairs. He nearly stumbled when he felt hands on his waist, steadying him. Voldemort didn’t let go as they walked up the stairs. Harry repressed the urge to shiver as he could feel the heat of the man so close to him. Harry pushed open his bedroom door and slid inside. Voldemort shut the door behind him and Harry backed away against the opposite wall.

The room was bright from the merry fire. Harry’s breath quickened and the fire grew dimmer. Voldemort stalked forward.

“Are you mad at me?” Harry whispered, his palms pressed against the wall. He itched to touch, to run his fingers through Voldemort’s hair, to drag his hands down his bare chest. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He _wanted_.

“I increasingly find it harder to be angry with you,” Voldemort said, his voice quiet even as he crowded Harry against the wall. He lifted Harry’s chin up so that they made eye contact. Harry was caught in crims.

“I find it hard to be mad at you too,” Harry said, gently. He took Voldemort’s face in his hands and pulled him down until their lips were breaths apart. Harry blinked. “Kiss me, Tom.”

Voldemort hummed and pressed their lips together. Harry allowed himself to touch. His hands roamed up Voldemort's arms, squeezing his biceps and over his broad shoulders before his arms wrapped around Voldemort's neck, pulling him closer. Voldemort deepened the kiss, sucking on Harry's bottom lip. Harry whined quietly and Voldemort groaned in response, his hands dragging down Harry's back to cup his bottom, squeezing the soft flesh.

“You are magnificent,” Voldemort hissed. He didn’t specify what about Harry was magnificent—if he was impressed by Harry’s consumption of a lion’s heart, his speech or his beauty. Harry liked to think all three.

"I want you," Harry whispered before tugging Voldemort down again. He whined when the man bypassed his lips, sucking a bruise at his pulse point, biting possessively. "I want you. Fuck me, Tom. Fuck me."

Voldemort stiffened and pulled away, looking at Harry. Harry looked up, breathing hard, eyes glassy and he whined, trying to pull Voldemort back down.

“No,” Voldemort warned. “No.”

Harry looked wrecked.

“Why not?” Harry demanded.

Voldemort brushed his fingers against Harry’s swollen bottom lip and Harry’s lips parted so _easily._

“I must go. Andromeda will come soon,” Voldemort said and he disappeared without another word, the door slamming shut behind him.

Harry swallowed and slid down to the floor.

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

“Your Grace! Madame!”

Harry looked up from Freia’s feeding and spun around. McGonagall had been standing at the edge of the paddock watching but she too turned at the call. Tonks was on Ron’s heels, nearly crashing into him and Ginny crashed into her back. Harry took a step forward, eyes wide as he looked at the panic in Ron’s eyes.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Draco’s forces are going to march to Godric’s Hollow. They’re zeroing in our location,” Ron babbled.

“What is? My grandfather?” Harry demanded.

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “Your ancestral home. Lily was born in Afallon’s stronghold, Westeron, but, Godric grew up in Medraut’s stronghold’s shadow and he conquered Medraut there. It is the seat of your family’s power. Dolohov is Duke of it.”

Harry felt a rush through him. His last home. His connection to his mother’s family was that ancestral home and Draco, the Usurper, thought that he could use it to assert power. It had been given to the man that Ginny wanted to kill. The man that _deserved_ to be killed. The fires of the camp roared with his fury. He shook his head and through the pounding of his own heart, he could hear Freia’s shrieks in response to his rage.

“He will not. We fight. Summon Kingsley—” Harry began.

“No,” McGonagall interrupted. She turned to Tonks and Ron. “Lady Red will go.”

A chill ran down Harry's spine as Ginny and Ron exchanged glances. Before Harry could ask who Lady Red was, Tonks stepped forward. Ginny and Ron tensed as if waiting for her orders. Tonks had never been to battle with Harry and he imagined that this was the very reason. Tonks' face turned blank and she nodded once, suddenly standing at attention.

“Aye, I accept this mission,” Tonks drawled. “Ginny, my robes. Ron. My swords.”

Ron and Ginny scrambled off to do as she asked. Harry straightened his own battle robes and nodded once as he felt Voldemort's knife at his waist and his sword. His wand was stowed away. He would ride to battle as he would.

“Why don’t you ride to battle?” Harry asked, softly, his eyes alight with interest.

“Because I was raised by a dangerous woman to be a dangerous warrior,” Tonks said, coldly. “You knew her by the name of Pandora.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he watched as Fred and George walked over, a large trunk between the two of them, four locks hanging from it. Tonks held out her hand and Fred pulled his dagger. Tonks slid the dagger across her palm and bent over, smearing blood on the locks. Harry watched as the blood magic worked and the four locks unlocked with a click, one by one. Tonks kicked the trunk open and he stared.

There was a pair of swords there, one the color of normal steel but the other was the red of Tonks' cloak. It was as if the entire sword had been bathed in blood and baked with its color. Tonks lifted both swords and she shuddered, her eyes rolling around in her head. Slowly, Tonks' pink hair receded, giving way to brown and it curled madly around her head. Harry nearly flinched.

She _looked_ like a Slytherin now.

“What happened to your hair?” Harry asked, quietly.

Tonks looked up, her eyes burning bright as she laid the swords back down. Ginny returned with a bundle of black and Harry’s cheeks burned bright red as Tonks stripped herself of her dress. Ron looked down as Tonks got naked before the entire camp and Ginny helped her into black battle robes that fit every curve, every line of muscle. Tonks whipped her cloak around her shoulders and grabbed her two swords, sheathing him.

“Ginny, you will ride with me. Dolohov won’t be there but, Travers will,” Tonks said, coldly.

“I’ll kill him,” Ron snarled.

"No. You won't," Tonks barked and Ron flinched backward. Harry leaned forward, interested in the sudden change in treatment. "Only I have permission to engage. Travers is formidable. Your sister is long distance. If she can get a clear shot, it's hers. But, if it's me, I'll do it."

“I don’t need your permission,” Harry said.

Tonks looked over at him. “No,” she allowed. “But, I will do anything in my power to keep you safe and away from him.”

Harry scoffed but didn’t find time to argue. Instead, he watched as Hagrid led over two horses—one bay colored and the other black. Tonks mounted the black one and Harry mounted his own bay colored horse. He looked around the group. Emmeline Vance, Marlene McKinnon, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, and Charlie. Even Moody and Fendwick were ready.

“Are we ready?” Tonks called.

There were varying grunts of agreement and Tonks held out her hand towards Madame McGonagall. McGonagall went around, passing out the Portkeys. Harry grabbed Tonks' and then they disappeared into a swirling array of blue. Harry would never get used to Portkeys. He always swayed atop his horse and was tirelessly glad that the horses' hooves had been charmed to stick to the ground when they landed.

Harry immediately threw himself off his horse and into the fray, crashing into one of the defending Aurors. They had the surprise advantage, somewhat, and they were brutal fighters compared to some of the Aurors. Harry heard the gurgle of blood in the man’s throat as he punched his sword through his belly and ripped it out, throwing his body to the side.

The Aurors that guarded the outside of the stronghold looked shocked but immediately engaged in battle. It was lightly guarded, no more than fifteen guards at the gate, and if Harry had to guess, another fifteen to twenty inside. They hadn’t expected this, especially when Draco’s forces were marching towards Godric’s Hollow.

Ginny fired shot after shot, and arrows exploded through people's eyes, through the back of their heads. Spells Summoning boulders and firing green jets of death flew across each side. They clashed with all the brutality that they could muster and Harry grinned a terrible smile and he slammed his sword up to the hilt in a man's belly before ripping it out. He spun, wand raised.

“ _Diffindo!_ " he cried out, slashing another man open, his intestines spilling from the gut wound. Harry looked up and saw that Moody, Kingsley, and McKinnon were fighting admirably.

McKinnon stood awkwardly as if her leg was broken but, she didn't falter. Instead, she launched herself forward with a grim determination, curses spilling from between her clenched teeth. Purple sparks and black beams of power shot out, introducing men to death, and Harry turned back around as the gates to Godric's Hollow finally opened and more soldiers spilled out.

It was only one that Harry’s gaze stuck on.

Torquil Travers was not what Harry expected. He wasn’t particularly tall or broad. He was rather pale. His skin was slightly ashen and he was bald—another surprising trait. But, Harry could see the Dark Mark on his arm, black against his ashen skin.

“Well, if it isn’t the Fairest of Them All. You are a pretty one,” Travers drawled as he moved forward, flanked by four guards that had their weapons raised. Three Muggles and a magical Auror. This would be interesting.

“Thank you,” Harry spat, nastily. “It’s come to my attention that you’re occupying _my_ ancestral home.”

Travers took another step forward, pulling his sword and his wand. “Come and take it from me, pretty boy.”

Harry faltered as he looked at Travers. Travers walked towards him, swinging his sword as he strode forward, his eyes never shifting from Harry’s face. The three Muggle Aurors that flanked him looked ready to slice him through but, Harry waited, falling into the battle stance, lifting his sword beside his head. He glanced to his right.

Ginny was atop Tonks' horse, her face pale beneath the freckles. Her hand faltered. So, she wouldn't take the shot. She frantically looked down at her sides and pulled a vial from the saddle bag, pouring it over the arrow tip but, Harry couldn't concern himself with her. He would watch Tonks' back.

Before Harry could step forward, his sight was obscured by crimson.

“M-my Queen?” Travers choked out.

And in the light from the flames, Tonks did look like Bellatrix Slytherin. Tonks lifted her head and Travers’ gaze hardened. He took another step forward and Tonks tilted her head.

"I am Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of Andromeda Slytherin. I will avenge the rape and murder of my friend and her parents. I will avenge the deaths of all the people you slaughtered," Tonks said as she took a step forward, pulling her swords from the sheaths.

“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come. So, now, the war begins,” Travers laughed.

Tonks did not laugh.

"No. Now, it ends," Tonks snarled and then she was swinging her swords, so fast that they blurred into a swirl of crimson and gray.

Harry watched, open-mouthed as Tonks began to duel Travers and the three Aurors, seemingly everywhere at once. She stepped forward, swung at one Auror as she used her sword to defend from another. Travers’ eyes narrowed in concentration as he pulled his wand, coming at her from her open left. Harry’s eyes widened and he lifted his wand, ready to deal with the man himself.

“ _Avada Kedavra,_ ” Tonks snarled, and the tell-tale green jet of magic exploded from the end of the crimson sword.

The Auror crumpled immediately, a lifeless heap on the ground. Harry Summoned the body out of the way, and Tonks nodded in thanks as she spun, ending another Auror’s life with the slice of her steel sword. He gurgled, clutching his throat, and Tonks kicked out, sending his body flying. She twisted back, catching her breath, and Travers stared at her, curiously.

“A sword as a conductor? What kind of Abominable blood magic have _you_ been playing with, my Lady?” Travers asked, tauntingly and Tonks didn’t respond, only lifting her chin in defiance.

Harry winced as he realized that Tonks wasn’t denying his accusations. As the last Auror tried to creep forward towards Tonks’ back, Harry lifted his hand. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as he crushed his hand into a fist and the Auror exploded into flames, screaming as his skin blackened to the color of tar.

“GINNY!” Tonks roared.

And then Harry watched as Ginny gathered her wits and let her arrow fly.

Travers jolted as the arrow crashed through his shoulder, bringing him to his knees. Ginny dismounted, stumbling over to them. She flung herself into Tonks’ side, staring down at the man. Ginny grabbed Travers by the chin as his skin turned pale and the veins in his face burned a bright purple.

“Do you know me?” Ginny snarled.

Travers’ eyes brightened as he looked up at her. He looked around, searching for reinforcements even as the Order members threw the bodies into the fire. He was alone. The Death Eater let out a burbling sound, and blood dripped down his cracked lips, dried by the heat of the flames. He choked as he spewed vomit, a disgusting mess of bile and blood.

Ginny threw her hand forward, cracking him across the face.

“DO YOU KNOW ME?” she roared, her voice echoing over the dead battlefield.

“ _Yes_ ,” he hissed at her. “Yes, I know you, Ginevra Weasley.”

“You remember me,” Ginny said, her voice broken.

Travers gurgled with laughter. "Of course, I remember you. Such a sweet virgin cunt. Tight and small. Of course, I don't like little girls but Antonin had fun with you. I liked your little whimpers the most. You cried so hard...until you stopped crying at all."

Ginny paused, turning to stone. Travers laughed more even as he pulled the arrow from his shoulder. The wound hissed with poison and smoke and he dropped the broken arrow to the side.

“Ginny…” Tonks started, raising her sword in offering.

“You can’t kill me, Ginevra Weasley,” Travers taunted and Ginny stared at him, blinking rapidly as she took in the truth of his words. “You’re still the little girl that cried while she was raped and did nothing to stop it. You watched your parents be murdered like the little coward that you are.”

Harry wondered if she would turn on her heel and run.

And then she took a step forward and with that Ginny took Tonks’ steel sword and swung as hard as she could at Travers’ neck. Travers’ head separated from his shoulder with a rush of blood and a heavy thud. Ginny let the sword fall from her hand and she took a step back as the headless body swayed and landed on its front. Harry cleared his throat.

“What now?” Harry whispered.

Ginny stared for a long moment. Blood spotted her cheeks. And then she looked up.

She cleared her throat. “Now, we call Bill and Moody and McKinnon. They’ll set up wards. Congratulations, your Grace. We’ve taken back Godric’s Hollow.”

* * *

**ON THE**

* * *

 

“How can I help?” Harry demanded as he stormed in the medical tent, looking over his injured soldiers with a gaze full of panic.

Madame Pomfrey and Madame McGonagall looked up in surprise.

“Your Grace, you shouldn’t—” Madame Pomfrey began.

"No. These are my men. You'll tell me how I can help," Harry said, rushing to her side, his hands fluttering with disuse. He looked at the two older women, a stubborn set to his jaw. "I'm going to help."

“Well, make yourself useful. Go get the Skelegro. It’s in the cabinet next to Augustus Pye. Augustus, wave your hand!” Madame Pomfrey shouted.

A peaky young man waved his hand, barely looking up from his work as he rushed to set a McKinnon's leg. She cried out, lurching as she vomited into the basin in her lap. He murmured apologies and Harry inched around the two, searching through the cabinet. It was well-organized, each bottle labeled though Harry had no idea of what any of its uses were. Harry frowned. There were too many.

“ _Accio_ Skelegro,” he shouted, waving his wand, and he narrowly grabbed the potion bottle that shot through the air. Harry ran back to Madam Pomfrey and thrust the bottle into her hand. “What next?”

Madame Pomfrey and Madame McGonagall exchanged glances of surprise at the determination in Harry’s eyes. Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat as she poured the Skelegro into a soldier’s mouth. The soldier groaned but swallowed dutifully.

“I’ll teach you,” Madame Pomfrey said, immediately. She turned back to another patient, pulling Harry along. She went towards Augustus and glanced over his shoulder. “Augustus, the woman is already in pain. Is it set?”

“Yes, Madame. Shall I set it?” Augustus muttered as he straightened McKinnon out, and she whimpered, her face bone white.

“I’ll do it. Look here, your Grace. To set and bind a break like this it’s _Ferula_ ,” Madame Pomfrey said and Harry watched in amazement as a bandage was Conjured and wrapped around McKinnon’s leg, tightly binding it. McKinnon lurched once more, vomiting into her basin. She wiped her mouth, sour bile staining her sleeve.

“Ugh, look away. I’m sure you’re enjoying this,” McKinnon growled through her pain. She looked as agonized as before but Harry could see the pain in her eyes.

Harry shook his head. “No. Thank you for your service, Marlene McKinnon.”

McKinnon looked away.

"Get a pepper-up potion and a calming potion in her. You need to rest," Madame Pomfrey said as McKinnon looked up, ready to protest. Madame Pomfrey led them on to the next patient.

Remus had a new set of scars on his chest. Tonks sat at his side, her hand tight in his. Remus looked up at Harry and then looked away. Harry rolled his eyes and turned to Tonks.

“How are you?” he asked, hurriedly.

“Fine. Just…Madame Pomfrey, please help him. It’s too close to the full moon for him to be so weak,” Tonks whispered, distracted and panicked.

“Full moon? What does that have to do with anything?” Harry asked.

Remus winced. “I’m a…”

“He’s a werewolf, that’s all,” Madame Pomfrey said, briskly. Remus was too bloody to even blush, only looking away in embarrassment.

“ _Tergeo_ ," Harry said sharply. He watched as the blood was siphoned away, showing only bloody gashes, oozing with renewed pus. Harry winced in sympathy. "Um…a blood-replenishing potion. And…this is dark magic, isn't it?"

Madame Pomfrey frowned. “It looks like it. This will be a bit more difficult, your Grace. Perhaps, you should—”

“No. I’m going to help. _Accio_ blood-replenishing potion,” Harry said, Summoning it to his hand. He unstoppered and looked pointedly at Remus. Remus opened his mouth and Harry tipped it inside. Remus shuddered, some color returning to his cheeks. “How do we stop the bleeding? What can we do?”

"It's dark magic. He'll be scarred. But…Tonks, do you know anything?" Madame Pomfrey asked. Tonks continued to stare at the large gashes as if she hadn't heard a thing. Madame Pomfrey sighed and looked up. "Minerva! Large gashes afflicted by dark magic. Do you have any idea?"

“Trace the wand over the wounds. _Vulnera Sanentur._ Repeat the spell until the wounds are healed _,”_ Madame McGonagall said as she looked over another soldier and conjured a bandage with an absent wave of her wand. Another healer took it and immediately began working on the rather gory mess of Kingsley's side.

Madame Pomfrey took a deep breath to center herself but Harry moved too fast.

Softly, he began to chant, “ _Vulnera Sanentur, vulnera sanentur_ ,” as he traced his wand over the dark gashes all over Remus’ chest. Madame Pomfrey gasped softly as the skin began to knit together, leaving fresh pink scars in the magic’s wake.

Tonks looked up, wide-eyed and Remus’ breathing grew deeper.

“ _Vulnera sanentur,_ ” Harry whispered, finishing the healing. He looked paler but still strong and Madame Pomfrey stared at the boy in wonder. Harry frowned, wiping cold sweat from his forehead. “What?”

“You’re so much like your mother,” Madame Pomfrey murmured before she turned away. “Peakes! How’s the potion inventory?”

“Low, Madame,” Peakes called as he finished bandaging one of the last of the injured.

"Damn," Madame Pomfrey murmured before she looked over at Remus. "Rest up. Tonks, get a pepper-up in him."

“Yes, Madame,” Tonks said, distractedly. She glanced at Harry, reaching up to take his hand. “Thank you.”

“Always,” Harry murmured.

“You are just like your mother and father. Brave and kind,” Remus said and Harry’s smile brightened. He nodded at the two before he took a step back and swayed. Tonks lurched in alarm as Madame McGonagall’s strong arm looped around Harry’s waist, steadying him.

“You’ve _also_ been in battle, your Grace. Take a seat,” Madame McGonagall insisted even as Harry muttered about being just fine.

He nearly collapsed into the chair and blindly took the potion shoved into his hand. He felt suddenly energized and he looked up at McGonagall with a small smile.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re like your mother. Always helping, never worrying enough about yourself,” Madame McGonagall said.

“What do you mean?”

"When we first went to war with the Slytherins, she made potions from her tower. She would work tirelessly, producing potions and they were always the best. If she had been allowed to, she would've become one of the greatest Potions Mistresses or Masters this empire would ever know. Instead, that title goes to Severus Snape," McGonagall said, her lips curled in distaste at the man's name.

Harry tilted his head as he thought about the man in question. He hadn’t spoken to Severus Snape much but, he seemed rather unpleasant and was quite greasy. Harry didn’t know much about potions but Severus looked like the type.

“Perhaps I’ll ask the Dark Lord about having Snape make our potions,” Harry decided, mostly to himself and Madame Pomfrey.

“Excellent idea. But, you _must_ rest, your Grace. Any wounds?” she asked, running a diagnostics spell with a grand sweep of her wand even as she asked. Harry shook his head.

"Just a few cuts and bruises," he insisted, showing off his forearm. A long gash was there, surrounded by purpling bruises. It had stopped bleeding but Madame Pomfrey hissed in displeasure.

She Summoned a paste towards her and Harry shook it off.

“Just a bandage,” he said. “Don’t waste potions on me.”

“Selfless, stupid boy,” Madame Pomfrey muttered, even as Harry grinned in amusement. She summoned a bandage, wrapping his forearm carefully. “Be mindful, your Grace.”

“Poppy, the King is a reckless individual. I doubt he’ll be careful,” McGonagall said in amusement. Harry scoffed, prepared to defend himself when McGonagall gave him a look. “It’s wonder you haven’t been killed. His first battle, he confronted the Usurper head on.”

“And won!” Harry interjected.

“By sheer dumb luck,” McGonagall continued. “Just like your mother and father.”

Harry snorted, shaking his head. “Both my parents had ‘dumb luck’?” Harry asked.

“Your father was a reckless fool, always gallivanting through the Forbidden Forest, with his reckless friends. The Marauders they called themselves,” Madame Pomfrey said with a long sigh. “Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and _Peter Pettigrew._ ”

She spat the last name like a vile curse.

“Peter Pettigrew,” Harry murmured, tasting the name of the cowardly man that had betrayed his parents. He was still the Dark Lord’s man. “And my mother?”

“She was always with them, climbing trees, and leaping to and fro, just as reckless. She thought she could fly, that one. But, Lily Gryffindor was kind and good in all the ways that you are,” McGonagall insisted. Harry’s lips pulled into a smile. “We were present at your birth.”

“Did I really kill the summer?” Harry asked curiously.

“Aye. Most magical birth I’ve ever attended to,” Madame Pomfrey said and McGonagall hummed in agreement. Harry flushed in embarrassment but he didn’t look away. “When you were born, all of the fires in the empire died. But, when you let out a cry, they burned brighter than ever. Your mother called you a prince’s name: Hadrian James Gryffindor-Potter. It was your father that gave you a warrior’s name. Wildfyre.”

McGonagall nodded. “Now, you must rest.” Before Harry could protest, McGonagall lifted her hand. “Whenever you want more stories, seek us out. Rest, your Grace. The Warden of the West comes tomorrow.”

* * *

**WALL**

* * *

 

Andromeda watched through narrowed eyes as she rode forward on her horse, the eyes of all of the refugees on her. Their staring ranged from disdainful to curious, and every shade in between. One woman, in particular, caught Andromeda's gaze—a tall pale woman with a long face, like a horse. Her cornflower eyes were narrowed by judgment. Andromeda sniffed and turned away, looking at her brother's back as he led Andromeda and the two Lestranges through the camp.

“Welcome to the Camp of the Phoenix,” Voldemort drawled, utterly bored already.

Andromeda was impressed. At least a thousand people resided here and they had evaded her brother’s notice for nearly two decades. Whoever ran the operation was a formidable opponent, indeed.

“How many of them are soldiers, my Lord?” Rodolphus asked.

Ever the military man. Andromeda rolled her eyes. Rodolphus Lestrange was a formidable, serious man. He hadn’t been bested in a duel since he had last dueled Bellatrix. Even she had heard about that particular battle in her fortress. Bellatrix had been insane but, she hadn’t exactly lost her touch, it seemed.

It only made it more disconcerting that _Narcissa_ had gotten the better of her.

“Not as many as necessary. It is why we reach out to Alfheim and soon, other allies. But, we will train the able ones. All men and women must fight,” Voldemort said, lowly, as if he didn’t want them to know just yet.

“You still won’t have the numbers,” Rodolphus said, almost apologetically. Voldemort cast him a dangerous look but, didn’t debate him. There wasn’t anything to debate really. Rodolphus was right.

“But, we’ll find allies. The Dark Lord won’t lose,” Rabastan said, unwaveringly faithful.

Voldemort’s lips twitched into a self-righteous smirk, and Andromeda rolled her eyes as they approached the stables. He dismounted and turned towards a large lumbering man. Andromeda’s eyes widened. The man had wild hair and a long beard and he was so large that he _had_ to be a half-giant.

“Hagrid, will you take the horses?” Voldemort drawled, looking at the man with disdain.

The man glared back at him, and muttered, “Aye.”

Rabastan and Rodolphus dismounted. Rabastan offered his hand to Andromeda but, she rolled her eyes and dismounted, falling heavily to the ground. Her sword bounced at her side.

“Now, what?” Andromeda barked, searching.

She saw the sturdy cottage, the only building in the tent city of the refugees and she stepped towards it. Voldemort’s hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist, and he tugged her away from the cottage.

“We won’t be going in the building,” Voldemort said, carefully as he led them around the side of the building to a large stable and farther out a paddock.

Andromeda walked, her head held high as she ignored the stares. The density of people grew the closer they got to the paddock. The Lestranges also held their heads high. They had nothing to be ashamed of. They had done what had been necessary to stay alive and here they were, alive.

“We’re bending the knee in a paddock?” Rabastan asked, nervously.

“He wanted you to see his pets,” Voldemort drawled, his lips twitching.

Andromeda’s eyes widened as they entered the paddock. Her eyes fell on her daughter first. She would recognize her child, the child of her womb, anywhere.

Nymphadora had grown into a beautiful young woman. She had Bellatrix's nose and her dark indigo eyes. She had Andromeda's father's jaw but, her lips were all Ted's. Her hair was wild around her face, a bright pink. She was dressed in severe black battle armor, a red cloak draped over her shoulders. She stood directly to the right of _him_.

“ _Melui_ - _âr,_ ” Voldemort drawled. Andromeda raised an eyebrow. _Sweet-king_. “I present to you, the Lady Andromeda of House Slytherin, Warden of the West, and the Lords of House Lestrange.”

Voldemort walked forward and took his place at the left of his _Melui_ - _âr._

“Lady Warden, Lords of House Lestrange, you are in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm, Alpha of the Pride, and Fairest of Them All,” Nymphadora declared. She didn’t falter.

Andromeda stared at the King. He was just as beautiful as they whispered. His rosebud lips pursed, his ebony hair wild around his face like a halo, his skin so pale. He had Lily’s eyes. His beauty was intimidating, just as intimidating as the lion cub in his lap, as the massive _dragon_ that sat behind him.

The dragon that Andromeda’s brother had warned her about but, she had tried not to think about. She swallowed hard and moved forward. The dragon was the side of a horse. It let out a roar, a plume of fire escaping its mouth. Andromeda refused to flinch.

“Welcome Lady Warden, my Lords,” Harry Wildfyre said, his voice melodic.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Andromeda drawled. She looked at Nymphadora. Nymphadora was staring at her, her hands twitching, as if she wanted to reach for her. Andromeda took a step forward but, she froze when the dragon reared its head and a plume of smoke escaped its mouth in warning.

“ _Dar, Freia_ ,” the Fairest drawled. The dragon, Freia, whined and let its wide, heavy head fall into the Fairest’s lap. “You will not approach my Lady of Whispers.”

“Your Lady of Whispers is my daughter,” Andromeda said, sharply.

The Fairest’s lips twitched. “I know. But, I was made to think that you came here to bend the knee. Would my assumption be wrong?”

Andromeda paused and slowly a smile spread across her face. The Fairest’s words were hard and frigid, but she could sense his turmoil. It was like fire. He wanted to let her run to Nymphadora. He was joyful about the news that Nymphadora’s mother was here. And yet, he was putting his politics first in a way that Andromeda had only seen her brother and youngest sister capable of.

“You are a stone-cold bitch, your Grace,” Andromeda said with a smile.

The Order broke into mutterings. A redheaded man with freckles on his face stepped forward.

“How dare you?” he snarled.

Andromeda rolled her eyes and continued to stare at the Fairest. The Fairest laughed.

“Thank you,” he drawled. “Lord Rodolphus, Lord Rabastan of House Lestrange, do you come to bend the knee?”

“Yes, your Grace. We pledge fealty to you, the rightful King-Emperor of Albion,” Rodolphus said, saluting with his wand. Rabastan whipped out his wand and followed his example.

The Fairest nodded once and slowly turn his cold gaze onto Andromeda.

“And what say you, Lady Warden?”

Andromeda pulled her sword and the party surrounding the Fairest stiffened, all of their hands falling to the hilts of their swords and the handles of their axes. Nymphadora and Voldemort, alone, did not make a move to defend the Fairest. Even the Fairest looked delighted.

Andromeda thrust her sword into the ground and fell to one knee, crossing her wand over her chest. The Fairest raised an eyebrow in interest.

“I, Andromeda of House Slytherin, Lady Warden of the West, swear Westeron, all of Afallon’s forces, and fealty to you. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by any god,” Andromeda declared, invoking the old rights.

Voldemort’s nostrils flared.

The Fairest’s lips curled into a genuine smile.

"And I vow, that you and your daughter, my closest confidant, will always have places by my hearth, at my table, and I shall never ask service of you that might be a dishonor. I swear it," the Fairest said with such conviction that Andromeda could not doubt any of his words.

Nymphadora looked to the Fairest, eyes wide. “Harry?” she whispered.

The Fairest stood, cradling the lioness cub to his chest. Slowly, he walked forward, his expression never changing. Andromeda cleared her throat as the Fairest approached; he was slightly taller than her—far taller than she had expected him to be. Voldemort tended to prefer delicate bedmates. But, the Fairest was delicate, in an odd way, and still far more delicate than Voldemort who towered over nearly everyone but that giant, Hagrid.

"Tom, there's work to be done," the Fairest whispered, gently, and Andromeda froze. Voldemort barely reacted, turning on his heel and following him from the room. The Fairest looked over his shoulder. "Tonks, speak with your mother. You have much to discuss, I think."

And with that, they were gone, and Andromeda was faced with the girl—no, woman, now—that she had thought dead for over twenty years.

* * *

**WHO**

* * *

 

Tonks looked over her shoulder, at her mother, nervous, as she led her down the hall and towards her bedroom. Warden Andromeda was looking around, curiously, but not saying a single word. She was a regal woman. Tonks had known that. She had seen paintings of the woman in her chainmail dresses. The sword of the West bounced against her hip. But, Tonks remembered a time when she hadn’t worn silk and leathers and chain. Tonks vaguely remembered simple cotton and hair tied-back.

Tonks could vaguely remember a time when Andromeda Slytherin had simply looked like her mother and not like the Warden of the West.

“My room’s here…Lady Warden,” Tonks said, uncertain. She flinched when Andromeda looked at her sharply.

Andromeda looked crossed between annoyance and amusement. Tonks ducked her head in embarrassment, her hair turning a bright yellow.

“That hasn’t changed,” Andromeda snorted. Tonks shrugged, uneasily as her hair eased back to bright pink.

“Never has, though I’m not as easily embarrassed anymore,” Tonks said, ruefully.

Andromeda smiled.

“I’m glad.”

Tonks pushed open the door with her hip and stumbled over the coat rack. As the troll leg fell over, so did and Tonks landed in a heap at her mother’s feet. Tonks groaned, slapping a hand over her burning face as her hair burned a bright neon yellow.

“Oh Merlin, this is so _embarrassing_!” Tonks moaned from the ground.

Andromeda’s laughter filled the room, bright and booming. It reminded Tonks of her childhood. Tonks crawled towards her bed, her red face pitched towards the ground.

“It is. But, it’s also rather funny. The first time you tripped over something, you bawled until your father bandaged your nonexistent scrape,” Andromeda said as she crossed the room and kneeled on the ground next to Tonks, uncaring for ‘ladylike’ behavior.

“I’m pretty sure that did not happen,” Tonks said, looking up as the pink slowly dissipated from her face and went towards her hair. Andromeda smirked.

“I assure you it did.”

Tonks leaned back against her bed and sighed. She looked over at Andromeda, wondering what she should say. Andromeda stared back at her, wide-eyed. Waiting.

“I missed you,” Tonks blurted out.

Andromeda smiled, reaching forward to run her hand over the short spikes of Tonks’ hair.

“And I missed you, my little Red. It’s been a very long while,” Andromeda whispered. She leaned back against the bed and looked up at the ceiling.

Tonks bit her lip.

“Voldemort...I...he recognized me when he first saw me. He looked at me and said ‘Nymphadora’ like he knew me my whole life. And I knew you. I remembered. I look like a Slytherin,” Tonks said, so incredibly vulnerable.

“I knew you from the moment I saw you. You always liked your hair bright. Sometimes purple, sometimes turquoise. The pink is new, though. The crimson cloak. It looks like the one your father made for you when you were little. This one is beautiful,” Andromeda whispered and Tonks’ lips twitched into a slow smile as she stared at her mother.

She ignored the tears that stung her eyes.

“They call me Lady Red.”

“How did you get involved with the Order? What do you do to help them? How did become the Fairest’s Lady of Whispers?” Andromeda asked. Tonks flinched and looked away.

“If I tell you...will you think less of me?” Tonks asked.

It was one thing to reassure Harry. But, this was her _mother._

“Never, Nymphadora,” Andromeda said. Tonks made a face and Andromeda laughed. “What? It’s your name.”

“Everyone calls me Tonks,” Tonks explained.

Andromeda’s expression faltered. “Your father.”

“After my father. I’m Nymphadora Tonks. _Not_ Nymphadora Slytherin. And they call me Tonks because Nymphadora is such an unfortunate name,” Tonks said, avoiding the looming questions and Andromeda scoffed.

“Nymphadora is a noble name for a noble woman. I will _not_ be calling you Tonks,” Andromeda said, sharply. Tonks smothered her snort in her hand. “Now, answer my questions.”

Tonks sighed and swallowed her hesitation. “I was raised in a brother. I was taught how to pleasure a man young. Not a child but I was...young. But, they taught me magic there too. They taught me how to pull information from a man as I whored. Taught me that being a Metamorphmagus was a gift. I could become a man’s greatest desire and steal his secrets. And when I was a teenager, I came across a wild woman. I thought she wanted to kill me.”

“What did she want?” Andromeda asked.

“A companion. I was intrigued. I would be able to stop selling my body like a common whore. She was wild, Mother. She was dark and powerful. We ran together and she taught me everything I know because I had one goal—to avenge Father. But, a time came when I had to leave the home to fetch something and when I returned, she was gone. I survived, resolved to kill the man that murdered my father but, then I came across Madame McGonagall and she recognized me for who I was and I told her the skills I had. And I became the Spymaster of the Order. Then...Harry, the Fairest, came and we clicked. He made me his Lady of Whispers.”

Tonks was simplifying her journey but her mother didn’t need to know the gory details of the things she had done for Pandora. No one needed to know. Only Remus knew everything. Tonks closed her eyes. She froze when Andromeda’s lips brushed across her cheek.

“You are so strong, my child,” Andromeda whispered so much conviction, Tonks wanted to weep.

“Am I?” Tonks asked, her voice cracking.

Andromeda hummed, wiping away stray tears. "Oh you are, my darling. So strong. Stronger than I, who has grieved yet done nothing to stop what has been happening. I have been passive, locking myself away in Westeron. I regret it," Andromeda said, quietly.

“But, you are here now,” Tonks insisted and Andromeda nodded in agreement.

They sat in silence, drinking in the other's presence. Andromeda looked around the room as she tucked her daughter's head into the crook of her neck. It was a well-lived-in room. The bed sheets were rumpled but clean, the fire crackling merrily. But, it was the children's toys in the corner by the long crib that caught her attention.

“There is a child?” Andromeda asked, wide-eyed.

Tonks laughed. “Teddy. He’s a child I found. He’s like me. A Metamorphmagus.”

“Where is he? I’d like to see your son,” Andromeda said.

“I think he’d like to meet you too, Mother. He’s napping in Remus’ room now but when he’s up—”

“Remus? A man?” Andromeda asked, her eyes alight with hesitant mischief and Tonks snorted in laughter, shaking her head.

“Yes, a man. Remus Lupin. You know.”

Andromeda’s lips turned down. “I know. A Marauder, then.”

“Yes. He’s a good man tho, Mother. But, he will not...he won’t entertain...it’s complicated,” Tonks finished as she struggled to put Remus and her relationship into words. Andromeda looked at her with understanding and Tonks flashed a helpless smile.

“Well, I shall meet your son and this Remus,” Andromeda said and Tonks nodded as she struggled to her feet. Andromeda stood up, gracefully, and Tonks couldn’t stop _smiling_. Her _mother_ was here.

“Let me show you the camp,” Tonks said, grabbing her mother’s hand and tugging her from the room. They walk down the stairs and out the front door of the Burrow II. Andromeda lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the burning light.

“It’s so bright here!” Andromeda said.

"That'll be Harry," Tonks laughed. "This right here is the very center of camp. The tents all belong to refugee families. They help with the growing of food, cooking, cleaning, healing, and washing. We all help. But, the Order members—at least, the high-ranking ones, live in the Burrow II with the King."

“And what’s back there?” Andromeda asked, curiously, gesturing towards the stables and the ring that she had been presented to the King in.

"The stables, the training grounds, and the paddock. Come," Tonks insisted though she still hadn't released her mother from her grip.

The pair of Slytherin women walked past the training grounds first. Andromeda stopped as she saw the young redheaded woman from before. She had a quiver upon her back and a bow in hand. She nocked an arrow, and tilted her head, observing the multiple targets. And then the woman let her eyes close and she let the arrow fly. Andromeda’s mouth fell open as the woman slowly walked, unleashing arrow after arrow, hitting each target dead center.

Tonks looked at her mother, smug at the young woman’s display.

“Who is she?” Andromeda breathed.

“Ginevra Weasley,” Tonks said. “She’s been trained since she was a little girl and has been a part of the Order just as long as that. Zero chance of missing.”

Ginevra Weasley paid them no mind. “ _Accio_ ," she called, summoning her arrows back to her and then she began again.

Tonks tugged her mother along and they walked further towards the training ground. Andromeda could hear the shrieks of that dragon again, loud and proud. She looked at the training grounds further down and saw the King. He was dueling with a tall, lanky redheaded young man. Spells were flying back and forth—red jets and black flashes. Purple and blue. All lightning fast as if the Fairest had been training for years.

His beastly dragon sat at the edge of the paddock, its head extended far. The little lion cub sat in the shade of the dragon’s head and right before the dragon stood Andromeda’s brother, his arms crossed over his chest. The Lestranges stood on either side of him, mildly impressed.

“ _EXPELLIARMUS!_ " the King roared, spinning with his sword and the redhead's wand flew from his hand. He brought up his ax towards the edge of the King's blade, and the Fairest wrenched himself back.

“What do you do now?” the redhead asked with a lazy grin.

“Kill him!” Tonks shouted. The Fairest barely twitched and nodded with a smile.

“I kill you.”

“AGAIN!”

Andromeda jumped when she heard her brother’s roar. She watched as the Fairest launched himself forward without a thought, kicking out and catching the redhead in the chest. The redhead laughed and stumbled back, grabbing at his wand. They crashed into each other. The redhead was similar to Andromeda in battle—volatile and brutal. Watching him truly fight would be a gruesome sight.

But, the Fairest moved like fire—all grace and fury. It reminded Andromeda of Lily and James. Lily’s fire was in his bright green eyes and James’ preciseness was in his movements. The Fairest spun with the wind, dodging what he could and blocking only when he had to.

“End it! Battle is fast and bloody!” Voldemort barked again.

The Fairest’s lips curled into a snarl. “ _Füir.”_

And Andromeda's mouth dropped open as fire exploded around the Fairest, writhing like a menace. The grass beneath him blackened and curled, and turned to ash. And yet the fire did not touch him. The redhead dropped his ax and wand, raising his hands in defeat.

“Good. But, you can’t do that every time you want to win a fight,” Voldemort said.

Andromeda cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Narcissa won’t be cowed by that for long,” she added.

The Fairest turned to her, eyes narrowed with curiosity. He took a step forward, smiling softly at Tonks before turning back to Andromeda.

“Tell me what will cow Andromeda,” he said. It was a demand but, there was something about him that made Andromeda want to give in.

“Your Grace—” she began.

“Harry,” he corrected.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow but said nothing of it. “Narcissa is a cold woman.”

“Fire melts ice,” Rabastan added and Harry flashed the man a smile. Andromeda rolled her eyes when the man flushed. She gazed at Voldemort as his gaze hardened on his Death Eater.

_Interesting._

“But, not always,” Voldemort said, briskly. He stepped forward until he was in Harry’s space. Andromeda raised an eyebrow when Harry didn’t take a step back, only let the man linger in his breath. “What will you do when you face her or Draco?”

“Only you can kill either of them. You can’t expect—” Rodolphus began to protest.

“Who kills who is neither here nor there,” Voldemort said, shortly. He looked over at Andromeda and beckoned her closer. “Andromeda, give us your perspective on Narcissa’s fighting style.”

And so Andromeda was drawn into the war, her daughter at her side.

* * *

**IS FAIREST**

* * *

 

“I’m losing myself. I can’t...I don’t know what to do anymore,” Harry whispered, softly, curled into a small ball atop his bed, unable to take the rest of the world with its fire and its call for blood.

The moment he had seen Andromeda, he had wanted to push her towards Tonks. But, he knew that he had to put the empire first. The war and carnage that he would bring to the empire in his struggle for power. The heartbreak and the suffering and the tears. The black-and-white of the war was gone. The distinction had never existed and he had been so blind.

“Would you like advice?”

Voldemort’s low, velvet voice drew him out of the pit. He stared into Voldemort’s red eyes. They didn’t pity him; they never did.

They looked at him with expectation.

The expectation that he would rise from the ashes like the phoenix his mother supposedly was, but never managed to be. The expectation that Harry would be a lion. Would be a _dragon_.

With every loss, every fallen body, Harry turned to ashes and he broke.

“Advice? I could use some of that, but yours? I’m not sure,” Harry said, callously.

Voldemort’s lips pulled into a smirk. “You’re angry with me. You said it was hard to be angry with me.”

“I said hard. Not impossible,” Harry bit out. “You tore a mother and daughter apart.”

“Are you only just coming to terms with this?” Voldemort asked, cruelly. He laughed, high and cold, and it sent shivers down Harry’s spine.

It was a laugh that reminded Harry when he had been the prey and not the predator. The days when he had been just a boy and not the man. But, the boy was dead now, burned to ashes, and he had risen a man. Ollivander's warning still haunted his sleep, echoing behind his ears.

“I should’ve never made you my Chancellor,” Harry whispered, his voice trembling.

Voldemort laughed again. “Why did you?”

“Because one day, you will be the man that I know you are and you will be worthy of it,” Harry spat back, and Voldemort recoiled as if he had been burned. Harry grinned in triumph, looking at the expression on the Dark Lord’s face.

“You have too much faith in me,” the Dark Lord said, coldly.

“You have too little faith in yourself,” Harry retorted and he sat up, reaching forward and brushing his fingers lightly across the Dark Lord’s jaw, tracing the lines. “My Lord, you’ve lost yourself. Just as I have.”

“I have always been lost,” Voldemort said, coldly.

Harry laughed. “So have I,” he said, conspiratorial.

"You are fire personified," Voldemort muttered. "Blowing this way and that way in the wind. Turning on the flip of a switch. Never sure where you stand. Never sure how you feel."

Harry rolled onto his back and sighed, the sound of a weary old man instead of the bright young man that he was. He lifted his hand up, staring as the Fire came without being called. It danced along his palm and down his knuckles, gathering around his wrist. Harry closed his fist and the flames extinguished.

"Perhaps," Harry allowed. "I must remind myself that at any time, I can be bitten by you, Tom. Every minute that you spend in my presence, I must remind myself of that because, every second, I grow to trust you more and more. No matter how many times a snake sheds its skin, it's still a snake."

Voldemort laughed again but, it was a warmer sound that made Harry’s lips twitch into a smile.

“I have made a Vow. I am not in the business of dying,” Voldemort said, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. Harry rolled over onto his side and propped his head up on his arm, his lips twitching.

“If there’s anyone who can escape an Unbreakable Vow, it’s _you_ , Lord Voldemort,” Harry said.

And Voldemort looked at the man, this beautiful man that had tested all of his boundaries, that had bound them in blood and magic.

“Do you know why I made that Vow?” Voldemort asked, his voice quiet.

“Revenge,” Harry said, sharply.

Voldemort turned on his back and closed his eyes.

“I told you that your parents threatened everything I held dear. I lied,” Voldemort repeated, from that night that felt like years ago, the night that he had taken Harry. Now, it felt like Harry had taken something from him but, he wasn’t sure what.

“I remember,” Harry whispered.

“Narcissa took everything that mattered away from me. My choices. My immortality. My empire. My sister.”

Harry. “You loved her,” he whispered.

Voldemort hummed, softly.

"I cannot say that I loved her. That loved anything. But, she was my twin, and thus, one-half of me."

“You speak highly of her. That is love,” Harry said, firmly.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “What a base emotion. Love. No. I found Bellatrix in the womb. We are bonded by blood, bone, water, and magic. I have known her before I knew myself. She is half of me. Half of my everything and anything.”

Harry cleared his throat. He could call Bellatrix many things. Mad. Evil. Terrible. And yet, he could see the grief in Voldemort’s face, in the way he clenched his jaw. Harry licked his lips, suddenly aware of how dry they were.

“That’s why, then?” Harry asked, gently, as if he were speaking towards a skittish animal. He brushed a hand over Voldemort’s bicep and Voldemort stiffened.

Voldemort’s slowly let his eyes open and they bored into Harry’s with an intensity that Harry had not ever seen. It was rage and it bubbled towards the surface.

“You think you know my family, Harry Potter? I have been fighting for the survival of my family since I was a boy. I have sacrificed and killed to retain the survival of my sisters and myself, and Narcissa _squandered_ it. We are Slytherins. Fear. Blood. Power. And we _never_ forgive.”

Harry nodded, his heart aching, and he sighed, shaking his head.

“And I will aide you, to the best of my ability,” Harry swore.

Voldemort looked surprised by Harry’s resilience.

“You are beautiful, Harry Wildfyre,” Voldemort said, quietly. “You might be the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

Harry flushed and turned away, slowly sitting up, and shaking himself.

“Come on, get up,” he said, rolling off the bed, and stumbling just slightly before he righted himself. Harry snatched his wand from the bedside and with one hand called the Fire, lighting his fireplace and the lamps all over the room. Voldemort frowned up at him and slowly sat up. “ _Accio_ parchment and quill.”

“What are you doing?” Voldemort asked. “And we need to work on your wordless spellwork. You’ll need the element of surprise when on the battlefield. It isn’t a proper duel if you’re—”

“Yes, yes,” Harry said, impatiently as he grabbed a book from his bedside table to use as a makeshift desk on his lap. “Come, we’re going to work. You said we must treat with the centaurs, yes?”

Voldemort looked at him, his lips pursed. “It’s late, Harry…”

“No, no. Neither of us are going to be able to sleep. Let’s focus. Do something. Come on, help me write this,” Harry said, pushing distractions on the Dark Lord.

Voldemort’s lips twitched. Harry was not a subtle young man. But, he didn’t speak to this. Instead, he bent his head towards Harry’s and worked.

* * *

**OF THEM**

* * *

 

Rusted iron bars held the stray magic at bay. The only constant of the large camp was the sound of clinking chains and the quiet weeping. Someone always wept even as the Aurors snarled and cursed at them to silence themselves. When they weren’t silent, the Aurors raged at them anyway, throwing curses and spells that the creatures couldn’t defend themselves from.

This was the first, and largest, outpost of Crowmere Camp.

Every cage was stuffed with creatures—centaurs, banshees, Veela, goblins, giants, and other Fae. Hippogriffs lingering in cages stuffed with feces and rotten food left in troughs for them to consume. The entire camp reeked of excrement and death, heavy blanket of it keeping the creatures low.

“The King is full of excellent ideas, you know. Just excellent.”

"Oh, I _know_.” She tittered, sweetly. “I’ve been saying for _years_ that we should adopt a harsher creature control policy. It’s more important now than ever, with the war going on.”

“ _Especially_ with the—”

He was interrupted by the shrill cry of a banshee. The two watched as an overseer tried to reach into the cage again, with a sneer on his face. The banshee let out another cry, crashing against the bars, as if she could ever possibly escape magic-enforced iron. Her screams would’ve normally deafened a person but, that wasn’t possible here.

The two observers exchanged glances before carefully making their way to the cage.

The pair of them were an odd couple. He was a portly old man, always dressed pinstriped robes and a rather unfortunate lime green pointed hat. The woman was even more unfortunate, with her frog-like face and penchant for a silly pink that befitted young girls far more than her. Her sausage-like curls bounced round her face, and she dragged her pink whip alongside her, creating a snake trail behind her.

“Madame Umbridge, the banshee is being...difficult,” the overseer said, stiffly.

The woman let out a shrieking giggle, her lips pulled into a wide, terrible smile and she nodded, her pink bow twitching just so with her movement. She took a step forward.

And in a high, piercing voice, she said, “Think nothing of it, Mr. Thicknesse. I shall deal with this personally.” The woman approached the bars and the banshee snarled at her, baring her teeth. The woman glanced over her shoulder. “Cornelius, how many lashes do you think would be appropriate?”

The portly man, Cornelius, mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “I’m not sure, Madame,” he said, gruffly, looking away, his lips pulled into a grimace.

“Very well,” Dolores Umbridge said as she waved her wand, causing the barred door to swing open, and she smiled, sweetly, at the banshee. “You’ve hurt my Aurors, monster. Deep down, you know you deserve to be punished. Don’t you?”

The banshee hissed, her black hair whipping around her young face. Umbridge lifted her whip, dangerously.

“Until the lesson sets in.”

And then the whip cracked through the air, and the banshee _screamed._

* * *

**ALL?**

* * *

 

Gabrielle shivered as she brushed her hair back from her face, her cheeks bright pink with merriment. The Manoir was bustling, applauding. It was full of dancing and laughter, all celebrating her marriage. Gabrielle looked over her glass of wine to her husband. Fenrir looked back at her, his eyes bright with amusement. Gabrielle leaned over, pressing a kiss to his bristly cheek.

“What was that for?” he laughed.

“Because I wanted to kiss my _husband_ on the cheek,” Gabrielle mocked, and Fenrir let out a snarling laugh.

Instead of returning the peck, he grabbed a hold of her chin and laid an open-mouth kiss to her mouth. Gabrielle knew it wasn't proper but she fell into the rhythm of it easily, her eyes fluttering closed. When she pulled away, she knew her cheeks were flushed red. Fenrir smirked down at her.

“You look particularly Veela, today,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper.

Gabrielle paled almost immediately. She ran her fingers through her flaxen hair and winced when she saw how pale and glowing the locks were.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” she hissed.

Fenrir hummed. “You won’t need to learn how to fight anyone off. I’ll protect you,” Fenrir said and Gabrielle was reminded of her absent sister again.

All day she had seen and heard things that reminded her of her absent sister. She had seen Brigitte Godard in a stunning set of robes, robes that could only have been crafted by Fleur’s hand. They had Fleur’s favorite desserts, a sweet little cookie with raspberry swirl on top. Even the robes, Gabrielle wore made her want to weep.

She had woken up that morning to a package from Fenrir, delivered by owl. It was a stunning set of wedding robes, embroidered with the cliffs of Afallon at the hem. Gabrielle had sent Fleur at least three invitations and each one had been returned to her with a loving note from Fleur accompanying it.

Gabrielle had been terrible to her and even still, Fleur loved her as if she were her own child.

Gabrielle might as well have been Fleur’s child.

“What troubles you?” Fenrir asked, softly. “The wedding night?”

Gabrielle finished her goblet of wine and set it down. It filled itself back up again but Gabrielle turned away. She had consumed at least two goblets already and the world was stark in color and the people swirling around the dance floor looked like a hurricane.

“No. I will do my wifely duties,” Gabrielle said, almost absent-mindedly. Fenrir snorted into his glass of harsher liquor, nodding in understanding. He waited. “Fleur wouldn’t come because she doesn’t believe you can protect us. That you can protect me.”

“I understand that fear,” Fenrir said, slowly. “But, she abandoned you. She didn’t--”

“No,” Gabrielle corrected. “I didn’t give her choice. But, I want to prove to her that _I_ can protect me. I want you to teach me how to protect myself.”

Fenrir smirked. “Anything for you, pretty girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I know, this is a week late but I can explain!
> 
> I'm currently in Georgia and Hurricane Irma decided to pay us a surprise visit. It was rough but, I'm okay.
> 
> Anyway, here's the chapter. The next one should be out by next week. You know the drill: if you have questions or suggestions, I'm always down to hear it. I love hearing what you guys have to say! Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter Six

Gabrielle’s entire body ached.

Her neck and thighs were sore and the light blinded her eyes.

She had never been so happy.

Gabrielle rolled to the side, looking for her husband and she frowned when she saw that he was missing. She stretched her hand out towards his side of the bed. The sheets were still slightly warm but, that didn’t mean much of anything. Fenrir was a furnace at the best of times, and there were warming charms on the sheets.

Gabrielle rolled out of bed and grabbed her wand from the nightstand. “ _Accio_ dressing gown!”

She groaned as the dressing gown flew from an open door and smacked her in the face. Gabrielle cursed under her breath as she pulled it on. It was just her size too. Gabrielle’s lips pulled into a smile as she felt the soft velvet against her body. She had never owned anything so luxurious. She went barefoot, her soles chilled by the marble floors.

“Fenrir?” Gabrielle called. “Fenrir?”

She heard no response. Gabrielle hummed to herself and frowned as she descended the stairs. She would check the library. That was always a good idea. Quietly, she walked towards the library even as her stomach grumbled. She couldn’t quite voice her frustration when all she wanted to do was smile when she saw Fenrir at a small table in the library, a light breakfast spread waiting. He had already started to eat.

“Fenrir,” she said.

She liked how she said his name. It reminded her that he was there. Whole.

He looked up and smirked at her, all teeth. Gabrielle remembered a time that she had been afraid of him. Not anymore.

“Gabrielle Greyback,” Fenrir drawled.

Gabrielle _beamed._

"What's for morning meal?" Gabrielle asked as she slid into the seat opposite him, crossing her legs underneath her. She leaned up, peering at the varying sausages, some well-cooked, and others a little rawer.

Fenrir preferred his meat a little red.

“Sausages and eggs. A hearty breakfast,” he said, pressing the plate over to her and Gabrielle reached forward, grabbing a sausage link with one hand and stuffing it into her mouth. Fenrir snorted at her.

“Why so heavy?” she asked after she swallowed and then began to shovel eggs and bacon and sausages onto her plate. She took the gravy, pouring it all over anything and dug in. She was _starving._

“We have to lot to do today and I thought you should...regain your strength,” Fenrir said with a lewd smile. Gabrielle flushed and rolled her eyes.

Very pointedly, she swallowed her food. “If anyone was tired out yesterday, it was you, old man.”

“If you say so, pretty girl.”

“I _do._ Now, what do we have to do today? I wanted to lounge about and read and have sex and eat and read,” Gabrielle pouted and Fenrir let out that growling laugh that was Gabrielle’s very favorite and she drank the bitter tea that he favored so much.

“I’d like to give you my wedding gifts to you,” Fenrir insisted.

Gabrielle’s eyes widened. “Wedding gifts? I didn’t…I didn’t get you anything.”

“Your presence is enough, pretty girl. First, I have this for you. You _are_ Mistress of the House,” Fenrir said and he presented her with an enormous ring of keys. Gabrielle smiled brightly as they jangled and he slid them over the table to her. There was something rather ceremonial about it, daunting to have so much responsibility.

“Thank you, Fenrir,” Gabrielle said, softly.

“You are Mistress of the House. These are your keys,” Fenrir said, plainly. “I only ask of you one thing in return.”

“Anything,” Gabrielle said, immediately, and she meant it.

“There is a door that leads to a private room in my study. I ask that you not open that door. It’s the only thing I ask. Can you promise not to?” Fenrir asked, and his voice was slow and steady as if she were a child. Gabrielle’s nose wrinkled in annoyance and she nodded.

“Of course. I won’t invade your privacy. I promise,” she said even though she was curious now that Fenrir had brought it up.

But, her new husband had already moved on, pulling her second wedding gift from his side. It had been shrunken but Gabrielle pulled forth her sword as she placed it in her lap. She pulled her wand and whispered, “ _Engorgio_.”

It grew to its actual size and Gabrielle tore into it. She gasped when she pulled up the top.

It was a sword. Actual live steel that glinted beautifully in the morning light though it was a weapon of death. Gabrielle reached forward to touch it and whined when it stung. She snatched her hand back and looked up at Fenrir, betrayed.

He grinned at her. “You can’t touch it until you know how to wield it. You want to learn how to fight?”

“Yes,” she said, firmly.

"I will teach you with wooden swords first but, then, your training will be taken on by a friend of mine as you use live steel and other weapons. Is that acceptable, my love?" Fenrir asked.

And _oh_ , those words—my love—thrilled Gabrielle so much that she’d agree to anything. She nodded frantically, as she placed the top back on her gift and stood up, grabbing at Fenrir’s hand, tugging him along.

“Let’s go start. Now, Fenrir,” she insisted.

Fenrir snorted but, he humored her. He stood and slowly they walked arm in arm to the unused ballroom. Gabrielle vibrated with excitement and she paused when she saw the two wooden swords. Next to one of the swords, on a chair, were her smallclothes, a pair of breeches, a tunic, and a plain leather jerkin.

“Change,” Fenrir insisted.

Gabrielle smirked as she shed her dressing gown, all feelings of shame gone. She could feel Fenrir's eyes on her back and she slowly pulled on the clothing and ended it all by tying her hair back in a leather thong, the silvery blonde hair spilling down her back in a tail. She grabbed the wooden sword and turned on Fenrir, holding up with a grin.

Fenrir smirked. “You’re holding it wrong.”

Gabrielle faltered. “Oh,” she sighed.

Fenrir rolled his eyes and walked up to her, grabbing the other wooden sword. He tilted up her chin and looked her in the eye, running his thumb over her bottom lip. He leaned down to kiss her and she melted into the kiss. He allowed it for only a few moments before he pulled away.

“You believe in the Dtrwies,” Fenrir said firmly. Gabrielle shrugged a single shoulder.

“It’s what my people believe in,” Gabrielle muttered.

“There is an even older belief. The Dtrwies are the single female aspect of another God. The God of the first Fae and all those that still follow the movements of the celestials. They believe there is only one god and one of his names is the Stranger, Death. And there is only thing we say to the Stranger, Death,” Fenrir said as he took Gabrielle by her chin, tilting her head up. His lips curled into a smile. “Not today.”

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

“Is this...are we safe where we’re going?” Ron asked, nervously as they approached the sacred centaur grounds. Ginny elbowed her brother and he yelped, falling silent. He glowered at her.

"We're adults. We're only allowed on their lands because we have invitation to be here. But, any wrong move will make them rescind it so _be careful_ , Ron,” Tonks warned.

Ron pouted. “Why is it _me_ that has to be careful?”

“Because you have a big fucking mouth. Now, shut up,” Ginny snarled.

“Children,” the Madame warned and they all fell silent at her single call. She nodded approvingly and looked ahead, grim-faced.

Harry stood behind Ron, Ginny, Tonks, and Madame McGonagall. He tried his best to ignore the hint of foreboding, even with Voldemort’s steady presence at his side. Harry swallowed. He hadn’t spoken to the Dark Lord properly since that night in his bed. Harry looked up at the far-reaching trees of the Forest. It gave the air a ghostly feel; Harry knew ghosts existed, in some capacity. Voldemort had told him. But, this felt like Death.

“Stay close to me,” Harry whispered.

Voldemort’s lips barely move. “Always.”

Madame McGonagall leads the way into the clearing.

The centaurs are gathered in an enormous semi-circle. And they are all staring. Harry notices that the foals are missing. Hidden away. Well, centaurs had no reason to trust humans. Harry would’ve done the same.

He knows the leader immediately.

Bane is at least three hands taller than the others, his lower half covered in black glossy hair. The top part of him is just as furred, though the hair on his chest is thick and curly. He has a scar across his grizzled jaw and two swords strapped to his back, curving out dangerously to the side. The others have varying weapons, though most carry bows as lovingly crafted as Ginny's.

“Be cautious of Bane,” Voldemort hissed into his ear. “He hates humans and he hates human rulers and he is far older than you think he is. He was born a few years before the Tabooed died. He knows the worst of humanity. Be _cautious_.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered back.

“Hello Bane. I am Madame McGonagall of the Order of the Phoenix,” McGonagall said.

Bane looked at the woman, briefly before searching their party. “Where is the one called Albus? It is he who I treated with last.”

Voldemort twitched at his side.

“He is no longer a member of the Order,” McGonagall said, her voice cold. Her tone held every indication of what her words truly meant. Harry was surprised by the amount of control it took McGonagall not to turn and indict Voldemort with a stare.

“Which of you is the Fairest?” Bane called, sharply.

Harry was vaguely surprised. No one usually had trouble identifying him. He stepped forward, raising his hand awkwardly. “I am, Sir Bane.”

“We have no need of your human titles here,” Bane barked. “I am Bane. And you are...unidentified as of yet. These are the names given by the stars. The only names that matter.”

Harry paused, unsure of what to exactly say. “I suppose...you’re right,” Harry allowed. “But, I am Harry Wildfyre—”

"Speak truly to me. You call yourself King," Bane barked. His voice is low and growling, but not exactly hostile. Not yet. His accent is thick, rolling and smooth. "That is your truth?"

“Yes,” Harry confirmed.

“We read your letter. You come here to ask us to join your magic war. But, we are many and we have seen kings and queens rise and fall with the turn of planets. Why would we follow you? We will not bow to humans again,” Bane warned and he took a step forward. As he did, the warriors along the inner circle all raised their bows and took aim.

Ron and Ginny made to raise their weapons but Harry held up his hand, frantically.

“I am not here to make you bow. Not now, not ever,” Harry said. He scrambled for words to say, suddenly all plans and talking points missing from his head.

“He is Wyrdfod,” Tonks called out, taking a step forward. “ _Wyrdfod._ ”

The centaurs all flinched back at the word, dropping their bows, watching Bane for his command. Bane’s expression flickered and shifted. He slowly walked forward until he met Harry in the middle of the semi-circle, towering feet above him. Harry didn’t back away.

“A name that does not _belong—_ ”

“It does. _Adrfyas Raug_ said he would come,” Tonks insisted and Harry looked at her with wide, confused eyes. Voldemort hadn’t twitched. “He has come to defend us.”

“You say ‘us’. You are not one of _us_ ,” Bane snarled.

“I am not one of them,” Tonks hissed. “I am a Stranger. Pandora—”

Voldemort’s nostrils flared.

“DO NOT SPEAK THAT NAME!” Bane roared and everyone fell silent. Even the birds had gone and Harry shivered from the tension.

“She is dead. But, Wyrdfod is here. And he will defend _you_ ,” Voldemort said, coldly.

“The one with Mars’ eyes has deigned to speak to us,” Bane said, loftily, looking at him. “We do not need your defense from Narcissa Godkiller and her spawn.”

“I am Kingmaker. He is Wyrdfod. And you do need our defense,” Voldemort insisted. He stepped forward, looking at Bane, and held his hand out towards Harry. Harry stepped forward, looking up at Bane.

"Tell me. They call me ‘Wyrdfod'. I do not know what it means but, I know it is important to you. I am here to ask your support in my endeavor to free this country from bondage," Harry said, earnestly and Bane tossed his head back and laughed, full of mockery.

“You are but a boy—”

“I have killed the boy,” Harry snarled, lifting his chin and Bane fell silent. “With _fire!_ ”

And he called the Fire to his hands. Bane’s eyes widened as the fire exploded around them, swirling around them and some of the centaurs cried out, falling back. But, Harry heard the whispers between the cries— _Wyrdfod_.

“I am not here to conquer. I am here to treat. I am here to make your life better. Ally with me and when I win back the throne, you won’t have to make do with only this patch of land. You will roam the Forests, free of me and my rule,” Harry insisted as he looked around the circle and he slowly walked away from Bane, addressing all of the centaurs. “I am many things. I have many names. But, the only one that matters is Harry. I am Harry and before I was King, I was subject, as all kings should be. And I was subjected to torment and humiliation. I say, no more of that. No more!”

The centaurs watched him, curious and appreciative. Bane still looked at him, seething with suspicion.

Warily, he asked, “What do you want from us?”

“No,” Harry corrected. “What do you want from me?”

"Your Grace," McGonagall said. He got hear the edge in her voice but, he ignored it, never looking away from Bane.

“How do you mean, Harry Wildfyre?” Bane asked.

“For years, we have taken your land, debased you as lesser beings. What can I do for you? I cannot pay for the sins of my people alone but, I can try to give you reparations,” Harry said, firmly. He cleared his throat as he looked around. “I would give you the Forest to range through, though I’d like you to continue allowing safe passage to those that would travel along the roads. But, you would no longer be limited to your sacred places. You would be safe anywhere.”

"And what do you know about our safety?" Bane snarled. "Even our sacred places aren't safe."

Harry faltered.

“What do you mean?” Voldemort barked.

"Centaurs have been gone missing while out on hunts while reading the stars. They are being taken by people like _you_. Magical people. My _brother_ was taken," Bane snarled, angrily, pulling one sword and he scoffed. "I do not care for your kings. Your kings take and take, breaking oaths long-held and spilling my people's blood as if means nothing."

Harry swallowed hard. _Draco._

“Creatures have been disappearing?” Madame McGonagall asked.

“Yes. Taken away in the name of the Godkiller’s son. Stored in cages of iron that we have no hope of escaping from. Being broken into soldiers and slaves for human masters. We will not make you our master,” Bane snarled. “Leave now or—”

“I am _your_ servant,” Harry said, firmly. “I am a King. I am a servant to every person that lives on this empire. I live to serve you and the empire. And I will free these people.”

Bane scoffed. “You are one?”

“I am many,” Harry retorted immediately. He took a step back, looking at all of the centaurs, ignoring the looks of apprehension. The dread in Voldemort’s eyes as he knew what was coming neck. Harry was going to be _impulsive._ “I swear to you that I’ll free the people in the camps. I will find your brother and send him back to you. I will _die_ to do so.”

Bane looked at him, judging his earnestness and Harry did not falter. Bane slowly sheathed his sword.

“You would swear this? By the stars? By the Seven of old? By the Stranger, Death?” Bane demanded.

“Harry…” Voldemort warned.

“Yes, I swear it,” Harry said, hurriedly.

Voldemort tipped his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“If you do this,” Bane allowed, “you will prove you are Wyrdfod, you will find my brother, and deliver my people from bondage. Then...and only then... will we ride with you.”

“Then, we have an agreement,” Harry said, firmly. “Now….what’s the name of the nearest outpost of this...internment camp?”

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Hermione sat patiently in front of the mirror as Luna slicked Sleakeazy through her hair, preparing her for another harrowing day at court. Every day, Hermione attended court, at Daphne Greengrass' side, enduring the whispers about how the King's favor had turned to the new woman. The whispers about how beautiful and foreign Daphne Greengrass was. How kind.

How _queenly._

“What’s wrong, Hermione?” Luna asked, carefully as she braided Hermione’s hair down her back. It was growing too long for Hermione’s liking but, Narcissa had been very clear that future queens had long hair.

Pansy had punctuated by talking about how beautiful and _long_ Daphne’s hair was.

“I...I am not made for court, Luna. Not like Lady Greengrass,” Hermione began, her voice trembling ever so slightly. She steeled herself. She would not be _afraid_ of something that she could handle. She was not afraid of anything. Not anymore.

“I think you underestimate yourself, Hermione. You have done admirably. You were brought to this realm against your will. You were taken from all that you knew and thrust into a group of people that thing you beneath them because you are a Muggleborn and foreign. You have suffered humiliation and pain at Draco’s command. And still, you have displayed your strength. You have done _more_ than admirably,” Luna said, firmly.

Hermione’s cheeks flushed pink with both embarrassment and pride. Luna was right. She had survived. She would continue to survive if she did nothing else.

She would survive as long as Draco stayed intent on marrying her. Hermione didn’t know her future husband well but, he was drawn to her still. Perhaps, it was the fact that she was foreign or that she challenged him. Or perhaps the fact that she was an easy target for him with no one there to protect her. A combination of all of them.

But, Daphne Greengrass. Daphne was bright, all laughter and joy and carefree in a way that Hermione couldn’t afford. And Hermione was not a fool. She saw how Draco’s eyes followed her. Daphne was just as exotic, and she was a Lady, raised by an ancient House of the empire. A disgraced House but, she was exotic and knew the customs of Albion. She was kind and beautiful and would bind House Longbottom to the Slytherins forever.

Hermione only brought one thing— _gold._

And that was what saved her life, every time.

Money made the world go round and in a world of war, gold bought secrets and power. That was all one needed to win a war.

And yet...and _yet._

“Daphne Greengrass is not my friend, is she?” Hermione asked, softly.

Luna hesitated. “I’m not...sure.”

It was the first time that Luna had admitted to being unsure about anything. It did not bode well for Hermione.

“She will take my place if she stays any longer. He will favor her. He watches her, undressing her with his eyes during court, for everyone to see. He disgraces me,” Hermione spat, thinking of the derisive and pitying looks she got from the court. The triumph in Pansy’s eyes as she rode Draco’s cock while Hermione had been made to watch. “But, I cannot leave. I cannot escape. He won’t let me leave alive.”

“The Dark Lord would never let him kill you,” Luna said firmly.

Hermione let out a cold hard laugh, shaking her head.

“The Dark Lord knows about Narcissa and has done nothing. So does Andromeda. They have done _nothing_. And they can do _nothing_ to save me now,” Hermione spat.

Luna’s hands fell to Hermione’s shoulders and squeezed tight. She leaned down, pressing their cheeks together as they looked at Hermione’s reflection. Even after eating so well for months, Hermione still looked like a wraith. Sure, her cheeks had filled in but, the years had taken their toll on her. She looked so _tired_. She was so _tired._ Her bones ached, her marrow felt ancient.

"You are wrong. You will be saved," Luna swore. "By fire."

“Fire destroys. Fire kills,” Hermione bit out.

Luna hesitated and she closed her eyes, pressing her cheek harder into Hermione’s face.

“My mother used to tell me about the gods. The Dtrwies were the ones most Fae follow. But, my mother always said there were seven faces. But, only one always remained the same. Death, like air. And she used to say that there is only thing we say to Death,” Luna murmured. “ _Al-sîr.”_

* * *

**ON**

* * *

 

“May I help you, Miss Petunia?” Ginny asked softly.

“No.” Petunia’s voice was hard as she continued to knit her blanket by hand. “I don’t want magic on it.”

Ginny winced, her hands fluttering nervously. She crossed her arms, caught between understanding and irritation.

“I can do it without magic. I...I am a warrior, but before my mother passed, she taught me how to knit,” Ginny said, earnestly. She winced again. She was unsure as to why she felt for this woman, even though she had treated Harry horribly, or rather hadn’t treated him with anything but apathy.

“You can’t help because a mother makes one for her children to protect them. Only a mother can make them,” Petunia said, her voice stern.

Ginny frowned as she leaned forward, staring at the blanket. Her jaw dropped open slightly.

"My mother made these. Weaving walls is what she called them. My brothers and I all had one. But, you're a Muggle…" Ginny trailed off, nervously and she cleared her throat as she realized her words. Petunia stared at her with pale blue eyes.

"I am a Squib. A bastard Squib of a noble house," Petunia said. She didn't make any move to elaborate and Ginny wouldn't push. There was something about this woman. _Something…_ “I’ve made weaving walls before.”

“For your son?” Ginny asked. “Did they work? My mother used to say that it protected us from disease. I wish it protected us from war.”

Petunia looked at the hardened girl, slowly tilting her head in observation. She was the one witch that Petunia hadn't felt even a speck of resentment for. There was some sort of camaraderie she felt with this noble witch that had stopped to save Petunia and her Dudley. Perhaps it was the neverending grief that brewed in her eyes. The same type of grief that Petunia felt.

"Many years before this day, Harry Wildfyre came down with dragon pox. Little Whinging had no Healers or medi-witches. We had Muggles that tried their best. The village healers said if he made it through the night, he'd live. But, it would be a very long night," Petunia said, her voice long and hard.

She remembered that weaving wall. Crimson like his mother’s hair. Gold like the crown he would one day be blessed with. Petunia had always known that one day they would come for him. They would take the boy that they had blackmailed her into taking.

“Harry?” Ginny asked, sadly.

“I sat with him all through the darkness, listened to his ragged little breaths, his coughing, his whimpering. When he arrived on my doorstep, I hated looking at him. This pretty babe that had been hoisted onto me in exchange for my life. This pretty babe that would be given anything because he was destined to beauty. So, I prayed to the gods. ‘Take him away, make him die’,” Petunia spat nastily.

She looked at Ginny, waiting for her condemnation. It did not come. Instead, Ginny waited for _her_ story. Petunia’s story. Petunia had never had anyone—especially, not a witch—wait for her story. McGonagall had merely curled her lips at her and demanded this of her, to house the babe that would rule over four kingdoms. Had seen a Squib. Had seen a _blood traitor._

“He got dragon pox and I knew I’d condemned a poor child to a horrible death all because...it doesn’t matter. I condemned the child, an empire to death. I prayed to _your_ gods. All seven faces. ‘Let the boy live. Let him live and I’ll love him. I’ll be a mother to him’.”

“And he lived,” Ginny said.

Petunia sneered. “And he lived. He didn’t even have the decency to scar. Instead, he grew into the most beautiful being in the world and I couldn’t keep my promise to your gods. And I blame myself you know.”

“For what?”

"For the torture, he endured as a child. After all, it was humiliating. Whore. Slut. Slag. The things men whispered to him. What they wanted to do to him. The things they tried to do to him. I had men asking to _buy_ him when he was only nine. All I said was no. I needed a boy to clean my house. To keep everything in order. Everything he’s endured…” Petunia trailed off and she looked at him.

The King-Emperor.

How beautiful he was, with his sword in hand as he sparred with the Dark Lord. Dudley was terrified of Lord Voldemort but, Petunia could not find enough in her to care. She couldn’t drag up the care that terror took. She was wrung dry.

“Everything he’s endured,” Ginny repeated.

Harry Wildfyre was glorious as he fought, swinging his sword to bat off the Dark Lord’s assault, sending red sparks at the man that could not be beaten. His lips were pulled into a wide grin and he laughed as he sparred. Petunia had never heard him laugh before in her entire life. She had rarely seen him smile. Not after someone had told him how pretty he looked with that smile.

Harry spun into the Dark Lord’s space and tackled him and the Dark Lord allowed it. The Dark Lord fell to the ground and Harry pushed him onto his back, straddling his legs, the flat of his blade pressed against his throat. The Dark Lord said something that made Harry laugh and toss his sword away before he rolled off the Dark Lord and sat in the grass next to him. The Dark Lord made no move to sit up, instead turning his head to speak quietly to him.

Petunia glanced at Ginny Weasley. Ginny Weasley watched Harry too.

“Everything he’s endured all because I couldn’t love a motherless child.”

* * *

**THE**

* * *

 

Rodolphus rode just behind Dolohov. The Lord of Godric's Hollow was single-minded in his approach of Godric's Hollow after Travers hadn't sent back a response to his last owl about how the preparations for the King's troops' arrival. The Dark Lord had sanctioned the expedition but, Rodolphus had the idea that the Dark Lord already knew what was to be found there. After all, he had sent the Lestranges with him.

“What do you expect to find?” Rabastan asked his brother softly as they galloped down the road, his voice nearly hidden by the sound of hooves.

“I’m not sure,” Rodolphus allowed, unwilling to say anything incriminating.

They were close and yet, Rodolphus could feel the building magic. It was powerful Light magic, at that, more powerful than Rodolphus could ever remember Godric’s Hollow feeling. The last time it must have felt like that was when Godric Gryffindor had still been alive.

“What…” Rabastan breathed as they finally approached.

Dolohov’s horse skidded to a stop, rearing with a cautious whine. Dolohov was silent, his mouth wide as he stared at the great walls that surrounded his home. They had built a twenty-foot wall around the villages and the small castle just beyond the village. Dolohov dismounted and walked up to the gates, slamming his fists hard on them.

A hot sizzling and Dolohov yelped, looking down at his blistering fists. His face twisted into fury as he pulled his wand.

“ _REDUCTO!”_ he roared.

The wards rippled under the spell but, only just. Rodolphus watched in dismay as Dolohov began to spit curses and spells at the ward, jets of white and blue. Green and red sparks. Rabastan dismounted and swiftly walked up to the man, grabbing his wand arm by the wrist. Dolohov turned his wand on him in his anger and Rodolphus immediately had his sword and wand out.

“Careful, Antonin,” Rodolphus warned.

Rabastan showed no such caution. “You’re only feeding the wards, Antonin. You need to stop. This is _powerful_ ward magic. Curse breakers did this. Arithmancers. Rune-makers. You cannot undo this. Not without the casters’ blood.”

Dolohov sputtered, his face turning redder and redder. He looked up at the walls and his face became bloodless again. He lifted a trembling hand.

“They...Torquil…”

He trailed off. Rodolphus followed the line of his hand and he paused. Torquil Travers’ head was on a spike atop the walls, his eyes wide in his agony. The rest of his body hung next to his head, a charred husk and pinned to his chest was a long crimson banner, decorated with a rearing gold lion.

The Prince of Gryffindor had taken his ancestral home back.

“The Fairest was here. This is his doing,” Rabastan said, his voice cracking in awe.

Rodolphus knew that their thoughts resembled one another’s.

Luna spoke often about the Fairest. She said that he was great and terrible and breathed Fire. When Rodolphus and Rabastan had seen him, they had seen beauty. Great beauty, indeed, but not someone particularly terrible. They had seen power and a dragon but, not the fearsome being that Luna had waxed on about.

But, now, Rodolphus could see it.

He could imagine the Fairest running through flames, cutting person after person down. He could imagine one of those women—either Andromeda’s girl or the hardfaced redheaded archer beheading Travers, the piece of shit.

“Lord Dolohov.”

Dolohov turned his gaze from his best friend and looked at the young woman that stood beyond the gate. She was a slight thing, her face dark brown and her eyes wide, the color of molten toffee. She had hair pulled back into multiple plaits. She couldn’t be more than twelve. Dolohov flashed her a leering look.

“Pretty Sally-Ann Perks. Won’t you open the gates for me?” he hissed.

Rodolphus’ lips curled into a disgust. Dolohov spoke to grown _women_ that way when they went to the whorehouses after a particularly harsh hunt. And here he was, speaking to a child that way.

“No,” the girl snarled, like an animal.

Dolohov flinched back. “What did you say to me?”

“No,” Sally-Ann Perks hissed. “I have a message for you. From the King of Albion.”

“What does Draco Slytherin have to say to me?” Dolohov bit out.

“No. I have a message from _my_ King. The King in the South,” Sally-Ann Perks snarled. And then she took a step back, lifting her chin with wide eyes. “‘ _I, Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm, Alpha of the Pride, and Fairest of Them All, have taken back my ancestral home and I warn you now, not to attempt to take it back. The head on the wall was taken by a girl by the name of Ginevra Weasley. I give you this message on her behalf. She tells you this once and only once—run._ ”

“Run?” Dolohov hissed.

“Run,” Sally-Ann Perks whispered. “Will you run?”

“Never,” Dolohov bit out.

Sally-Ann Perks smiled serenely. "She thought you'd say that. This is from Ginevra Weasley— _I will find you. I will seek you out unto the ends of the earth, and when I find you, you shall know my wrath. I will pull your teeth from your mouth, the teeth you sunk into the flesh of children. I will take your tongue, the tongue you laved across undeveloped breasts. I will take your cock, the one you use to torment. And I will take your life. Dream of me, Antonin Dolohov. Dream of me as I dream of the day you raped me in front of my parents’ broken body. Dream of me until the day comes and when it does, remember I told you. Run._ ”

Dolohov took a step back, his face trembling and Sally-Ann smiled.

“You will die, Antonin Dolohov,” Sally-Ann Perks promised. “You will die in agony. She promised me. She _promised._ They _promised._ ”

Dolohov didn’t wait for her to finish as he mounted his horse and galloped away, back from where he had come. The Lestranges paused as the information washed over them. The two exchanged sickened looks and then looked at Sally-Ann Perks. She smiled sweetly at them and nodded.

“Do you have something to say to us too?” Rabastan asked, nervously.

Sally-Ann smiled. “The King sends his regards in fire and blood. Do not betray him.” And then she turned walked back to the village.

The Lestranges exchanged glances. Dolohov was only a dot on the horizon now.

They followed suit.

* * *

**WALL**

* * *

 

“The King’s progress report is due in less than four days. What am I expected to tell him?” Madame Umbridge asked, her voice trembling with rage as she looked at Pius Thicknesse. Pius tried his very best not to quake under his gaze but, he was only mortal.

“I...I do not think we should tell him about _this_ , Madame,” Pius said.

This being the burnt husk of Ludo Bagman. Madame Umbridge stooped over, looking like an enormous toad, and she snatched the parchment pinned neatly to Bagman's chest. She read over the scrawl, again and again, her eyes drawn to the seal at the bottom. There was no mistaking the author of the note.

The cause of death was consistent with the way he killed, and he had signed with his moniker.

 

_THIS IS WHAT WE DO TO SLAVERS. SURRENDER OR DIE—THE FAIREST_

 

It was a terribly barbaric way to kill. To burn someone while their face was curled in terror, skin blackened and flaking in the wind. His hands were forever frozen, his fingers curled around a wand that had probably been turned into ash. Umbridge’s lips curled into a disgusted sneer.

“What happened to all of the goods?” Umbridge asked of the creatures.

“They were gone. All of the cages were broken. He could have taken them but, it’s more likely that he set them free. He’s cost us hundreds of galleons in efforts,” Pius snarled with disdain.

Good, so he knew how catastrophic this could be.

“The Lady Narcissa won’t be pleased,” Fudge said, nervously rubbing his hands together.

Umbridge sneered. “That is the _least_ of our troubles,” Umbridge hissed. “He will come for the rest of them.”

“How do you know?” Fudge asked.

Umbridge scoffed.

“‘This is what we do to slavers’. We are the slavers that he would condemn. He will come here. And the King will lose his biggest source of firepower for his army. We cannot allow it to happen,” Umbridge hissed. Quietly, she plotted, wondering after this _Fairest._

She would not lose her position. She had long been pushed to the side, a spare advisor of House Dolohov to the South. And now, she had been elevated to High Overseer of Crowmere Camp. She was Madame Umbridge. She would not _lose._

“What would you have us do?” Pius asked.

Umbridge leaned forward in her chair, her feet just brushing against the ground.

“We will...appeal to the Fairest. Offer him gold. Offer him anything. He cannot devastate this program. _He cannot._ ”

“We don’t know where he is,” Fudge insisted. “How can we appeal to him if we can’t find him?”

Umbridge only needed to cast him a look for him to fall silent. She looked for the answer amongst the Aurors that waited, to Pius who only stared down at the burnt husk of Ludo Bagman, probably wondering if he was next. She looked down at the husk and then the note in her hand and a wide smile spread across her face.

“Oh, we can find him. Centaurs are particularly good trackers, _especially_ when they have something that _belongs_ to the one that they track.”

* * *

**WHO**

* * *

 

“The Fairest of Them All.”

Harry looked up from his books and slowly closed them as the Warden of the West glided into the room. Her skirts were a dark mustard yellow this visit, chainmail wrapped around her bodice. She didn’t wait for him to extend invitations. Instead, she sat to his immediate right and watched him, waiting for his response.

“The Warden of the West,” Harry retorted. His eyes grew bright with pleasure as Andromeda’s lips twitched into a smile.

“My brother is quite taken with you. I see why,” Andromeda said, plainly.

“Why?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You are _fire_ ,” Andromeda hissed, tauntingly.

Harry paused. It was the first time that he had been _called_ fire. He lifted his hands, calling it to him. The Fire. The fire that lurked inside of him, in the empty space between his ribs and Andromeda didn’t react with surprise. She looked like she had expected nothing less. Instead, she nodded, appreciatively.

“That’s what they say,” Harry finally said.

Andromeda snorted. Slowly, she said, “My brother is a fickle man. Yet...he has made an Unbreakable Vow with you. He has no intention of breaking it, to my knowledge.”

“You think he could?” Harry retorted.

"If there's anyone that could avoid death, it would be my brother. What did my sister say? ‘What do we say to the Stranger, Death?'" Andromeda murmured. "‘Not today'."

Harry hummed. Bellatrix. He was learning about her more and more. No one seemed to like speaking about her and few had known her. They had seen her face, the face she had shown every year on Mortem Phoenix. They knew of her strange idiosyncrasies—her habit of speaking in plural, her power, her rage, her insanity. But none knew the woman.

“Tell me about her. Your sister, Bellatrix,” Harry said, softly.

Andromeda’s eyes held a painted gleam to them.

“I’d much rather talk about my brother. I heard what you called him. _Tom_." She says his name in a whisper as if he's in the room. As if he could hear them speaking of him.

“That’s his name. Tom,” Harry said, her voice firm.

“Do you know where the name ‘Voldemort’ came from?” Andromeda asked. “Has he told you about how he brought the Stranger, Death, to so many men and women’s doors that he feared it himself? Has he told you about the flight from Death?”

Harry froze as he looked at the woman’s gleaming eyes. She enjoyed having knowledge over his head. It gave her power. Harry would allow her to keep it. Instead, he smiled, even as his stomach turned. This was the only living woman that could say that she knew Tom Marvolo Slytherin better than him, and it made him irritated. Nearly... _angry._

“No, he hasn’t. But, he will,” Harry said, so sure of himself.

Andromeda's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I bet he will. _Melui_ - _âr.”_

“Don’t call me that,” Harry bit out.

Andromeda laughed.

“You let him call you that. You let _Tom_ call you sweet things, ‘sweet king’?” she mocked even as Harry blushed, looking down at the table. “Does he call you those things when he takes you to bed?”

“I am not a _whore_!” Harry snarled, slamming his hand on the table.

Andromeda looked at him again. Every time she looked at him, she was stricken by his beauty. He was gorgeous but, it was the fire in his eyes, the rage that twisted his face that made him even more so.

“I never called you one. Even if you were sleeping with him,” Andromeda said, softly. “I never called you one. Who called you that?”

Harry flinched back, as he realized that he had tipped his hand. He bit his lower lip and turned his face away, bringing a hand to his eyes. He swallowed his humiliation and turned back to her, his eyes hardened.

“I do not need your pity. Your pity does nothing for me,” he said, his voice flat.

Andromeda’s eyes widened and she smirked. “What _do_ you need from me, your Grace?”

“Westeron. I need to move my camp there. Draco’s forces are growing too close. And, as you can see, our camp has grown,” Harry said, referencing the creatures he had freed from a Crowmere Camp outpost and Andromeda hummed.

“Ah, the creatures. You would free the creatures. Why?” Andromeda asked, steering the conversation away from her brother. Harry leaned forward, his eyes narrowed.

“Because I know what it is like to be made a slave, to made to feel subhuman, and I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone,” Harry said, firmly.

“You are a Prince. A King,” Andromeda corrected.

Harry snorted. "I wasn't always Harry Wildfyre. I used to be Harry Evans, the bastard nephew of two Muggles. Too pretty for his own good, too lazy though I did all the housework. Too stupid to go to school after I turned fourteen. Too much of a freak for friends. Too much of a whore, not good for anything but spreading my legs," Harry spat, nastily and Andromeda swallowed at the sound of his words. Harry looked at her as if searching for pity and he smiled when he found none.

“You remind me of a girl I know,” Andromeda said as she moved towards the window and looked out. Nymphadora was outside, with that sweet boy that Andromeda had met—Teddy—and that man that avoided her, Remus. “A girl with the will of a thousand and a spine of steel.”

“What is her name?” Harry asked, softly.

“Her name is Lady Hermione Granger and she has seen much. She has lived through much. And yet, she survives. You are the same in that,” Andromeda said, quietly as she turned back to the King. He didn’t turn in his chair to look at her. Andromeda crossed back to her seat and sat down.

“The Usurper’s betrothed,” Harry allowed, softly.

“You will have Westeron. You will have all of the West as your resource. But, please... _please_ save this girl,” Andromeda said earnestly.

Harry looked at Andromeda with a smile. “I never intended not to save her. No one deserves to be a slave.”

Andromeda’s eyes widened and she leaned forward, grabbing his hands in hers. Harry flinched in surprise but didn’t pull his hands away.

“My brother doesn’t _deserve_ you,” Andromeda spat.

“W-what?” Harry rasped.

“They call me Empath like they call my brother Kingmaker. He doesn’t _deserve_ you,” Andromeda insisted and Harry opened his mouth to speak when the door swung open with a heavy thud.

The two looked up sharply at the man.

Voldemort’s eyes glowed red.

“Andromeda,” he said, coldly.

Harry stood sharply, grabbing his book and pulling it tight to his chest. He looked between the two siblings.

“I’m going to...I’ll be outside with Tonks,” Harry said, firmly. He moved to walk past Voldemort and froze when the man grabbed him by his arm, tugging him towards him. Harry looked up at Voldemort, wide-eyed.

Andromeda snorted when Voldemort tilted Harry’s chin up and he kissed him. It was a long, filthy, possessive kiss that really only lasted seconds. Harry pulled away, sharply and he stared, his cheeks flushed. And then he slapped Voldemort across the face, his eyes hard. Voldemort’s head snapped to the side, his cheek blossoming red.

“I am not your pawn,” Harry snarled.

Voldemort’s lips pulled into a terrible smile. “Yes, your Grace.”

Harry snarled and stalked from the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Andromeda watched her brother, unimpressed. The two siblings observed each other. Every conversation between them was a game of chess and Voldemort had made the opening move. Andromeda snorted. She was ready to put him in check.

She could taste the answers on her tongue. The _emotions_.

“You’re in love with him,” Andromeda drawled.

Voldemort’s war eyes narrowed.

“I cannot love—”

“Don’t bother trying to lie to me, Tom. I can taste it,” Andromeda laughed, full of spite. Voldemort watched her carefully. “What? Did you think that because you gave me my daughter, I would forgive you? You murdered my husband, brother.”

“I would do it again,” Voldemort hummed.

“Oh, I know,” Andromeda hissed. “He wants you.”

“Oh, I know,” Voldemort mocked and he leaned against the door, never taking his eyes off of Andromeda. She had him cornered. She grinned. “He is enticing. Beautiful. But, I cannot love.”

“You don’t deserve him either way,” Andromeda said, her smile dropping into a glower. “You will poison him, just like you poison everything else around you.”

“How so?”

Andromeda stood up, slamming her hands on the table. “You’re the reason Bella went mad. The one that pushed Narcissa, put pressure on her until she became the woman she is. _You’re_ the one that made us monsters! If you hadn’t killed those—”

“Our father put a sword in my hand long before I ever wanted to pick one up,” Voldemort hissed back and Andromeda fell silent. “If you want to blame someone for the monster you see in the mirror in the morning, blame our _father._ ”

Andromeda fell silent and she slowly stood, walking towards her brother. Voldemort didn’t move as she pressed her hand against his jaw.

“They used to say we lived fairy stories. But, do you know what I see when I see you?” Andromeda whispered.

“No.”

Andromeda closed her eyes. “A tragedy.”

* * *

**IS FAIREST**

* * *

 

_My dearest cousin,_

_I write to you for a number of reasons, none lesser than the other, and yet, greater than anything we’ve ever discussed before._

_But, before we engage in our business, I ask after your health. I hope that you are eating and sleeping. I hope that you do not take on too much. I hope that you would delegate, no matter what you think me a hypocrite to command something of you that I struggle with myself. You must learn to utilize our advisors. You know as well as I how useful they can be when they are properly directed. Remind them that you are my regent. Do not let them intimidate you._

_Now, young cousin, we must discuss business._

_You must have heard by now that your cousin, my sister the Queen Bellatrix, is dead. Her death has led to the ascendance of my nephew, Draco. This has been orchestrated by my sister, Narcissa. She has murdered my sister and placed her son on the throne as her pawn. We are at the edge of war and she fights to maintain her dominance over throne. My brother, the Lord Voldemort, has been forced to relinquish his control of the council to Draco and his mother after key replacements to the members of the Council. Left and right, he is being betrayed by his Death Eaters._

_I know. There is no love lost between my brother and you. He did your family great dishonor. He did your_ brother _great disservice. But, I implore you to continue reading my letter before tossing it into the fires. For, my brother has, for once in his life, done something that will serve us well._

_He has bound himself to the rightful King-Emperor of the Albion Empire, Harry Wildfyre. The Prince of Gryffindor and the Fairest of Them All. And, I have bent the knee and promised my cause and arms to him as well._

_Before you despair, remember, this man is your brother’s godson. Harry Wildfyre is a good man. He is as kind and just as he is beautiful and my brother has fallen in love with him._

_Yes, I do not jest._

_He denies it. Of course, he would. But, I know. You know I know._

_But, this man would unite the Empire in peace. A peace that hasn't known for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. You know under my father's reign, there was still unrest. They sent boys to wars and they became monsters. But, this man—Harry Wildfyre—would be the change that the world needed. I ask you to think on this, dear cousin. I ask you to think because, in due time, Harry Wildfyre will bring his camp of refugees and soldiers to Westeron as their base._

_With him, my brother will come. I am sorry but, it must be done. For the good of the realm. For the good of Afallon. For the good of us._

_And one day, your brother, Sirius, shall be free._

_All my love,_

 

_Andromeda Slytherin,_

_The Warden of the West_

Regulus slowly set down the letter and lifted his wand, keeping his face as impassive as possible. He pressed the tip of his wand to the letter and watched the fire spread for the center. The paper blackened and curled and turned to ash. Regulus still didn’t react. He swept his wand, Vanishing the pile of ashes and he looked at the faint scorch mark on Andromeda’s desk. He considered her words for only a moment.

Regulus would do as his Lady bid. Andromeda had taken him after Sirius had been thrown in Azkaban. She had raised him into the proper Lord of House Black. She had done everything for him and so, he would do what she asked.

But, he knew she remembered.

Regulus would _never_ forgive and _never_ forget.

* * *

**OF**

* * *

 

Court was harrowing. It always was.

Hermione sat below the King at midday meal. Narcissa sat next to his right and the Dark Lord to the left. Andromeda to the Dark Lord’s left. The four Slytherins were absolutely silent, eating their meal as if the tension couldn’t be cut with a knife. Hermione was situated a few tables away, surrounded on her right by the girls that wouldn’t talk to her. They were monopolizing Daphne’s attention at the moment and so Lady Greengrass couldn’t speak to her either. To Hermione’s right were a group of nobles that were speaking in soft tones to Neville, probably about his greenhouses and potential trade.

And here Hermione sat. Alone. _Again._

In the Republic, she had never had many problems with being alone. Really, she craved it, as long as she had good book to read. But, here, Hermione read books in secret and magic was forbidden to her.

Angrily, she stabbed at her cut veal and chewed viciously.

“Lord Crouch,” Pansy tittered suddenly, batting her eyelashes.

Hermione looked up, expecting Bartemius Crouch. She did a double take as the younger Crouch straddled the seat across from her, his lips pulled into a grin.

“That’s my father’s title. Not mine. I am no Lord,” Barty Crouch said, dismissively.

“Barty,” Hermione said with a tiny smile. She didn’t give a damn about propriety when addressing one of her only friends.

Barty winked at her. “Lady Granger,” he teased.

“ _I_ am no Lady,” Hermione snorted.

Pansy rolled her eyes and looked at Millicent Bulstrode sideways. “Clearly.”

“Little bird, can you still cast your Patronus even in this place?” Barty asked.

It was sure to confuse Pansy and the other girls but, Hermione knew the question for what it was. He was asking if she was okay. If Draco had hurt her since the last time that they had spoken. Hermione's lips pulled into a smile so big it was nearly painful.

“I think I can. I haven’t had the time to try,” Hermione said.

“ _You_ can cast a Patronus?” Pansy asked, in disbelief.

Daphne looked intrigued. She scooted closer, leaning into Hermione’s side. Hermione tried her best not to stiffen against the girl. She liked Daphne quite a bit but, still, she wasn’t sure who she could trust in the hellhole that was Hogwarts. Really, Hermione couldn’t trust anyone but Luna and herself. Not even Barty, no matter how much she wanted to.

“Is it corporeal?” Daphne asked, eagerly.

“It’s an otter,” Barty supplied, proudly.

Hermione laughed. “You only know because I’ve _told_ you that.”

“Well, I’m just proving that I listen to you,” Barty teased and Hermione laughed again.

She didn't care how it looked. That she was laughing and speaking with another man. In fact, she reveled in it. She glanced up at the high table from the corner of her eye. All four Slytherins were watching. The eldest three were emotionless, as Hermione had expected. But, Draco looked torn between rage and intrigue. His eyes going between Hermione and Daphne in equal turn.

 _Good_ , she thought. _Watch me. Want me. Never look away._

At the table just below the Slytherins were the council members. Her beloved brother watched with his green eyes. He would’ve heard about the library. Lord of Whispers. Good. _Good._

“You seem awfully familiar with Lord Crouch,” Pansy cooed, softly, poisonously.

Perfectly.

“Ah, yes. We’re friends,” Hermione drawled, looking at Pansy with a wide smile. “How you and Draco are friends.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed and she drew back, temporarily cowed. Daphne glanced at her, slightly impressed, a smile twitching around her lips. Hermione turned her gaze back onto Barty and she perched her chin on her hand.

“Tell us about being a Death Eater, Barty,” Daphne pleaded.

Barty snorted. “It’s a lot of boring shit usually. The Dark Lord won’t let us fight in the war,” Barty sighed.

“Why not?” Daphne asked, curiously.

Barty finally hesitated, if only for a moment. Hermione cataloged the moment to analyze later. She would go over it with Luna. Perhaps, now that everything was out in the open, Luna would be more honest about what Rodolphus was up to with the Dark Lord. If Rodolphus knew anything at all about the Dark Lord's frequent disappearances and reappearances.

“Because my Death Eaters are that, Lady Greengrass. Mine.”

The ladies all froze. Even Hermione paused under the Dark Lord's crimson gaze. She hadn't even seen him move, he was so quiet. Only Barty stayed relaxed in the Dark Lord's presence. He tilted his head back, grinning up the man.

“My Lord,” Barty drawled.

“Barty,” Voldemort said before he smacked the man on the back of head. Barty’s head flew forward but, he did nothing else to react, only taking the hit. Barty sighed, looking up at the Dark Lord, waiting. “Watch yourself.”

He looked discreetly up at the high table and the council’s table. Bartemius Crouch watched.

“Yes, my Lord,” Barty muttered.

The Dark Lord nodded. He didn’t acknowledge the rest of them and yet, still, Hermione could somehow feel his eyes on her. He left the Great Hall and as soon as he left, the chatter erupted once more. The somberness of the moment was swiftly over but, Hermione still felt cold. She opened her mouth to question Barty when she heard it.

"Fairest? Don't know about no Prince of Gryffindor but,  it's surely the Wraith of Hogwarts. She all skin and bones but, I bet she's really tight."

Hermione shuddered when she realized that they were talking about her. The drunkards by the corner of the Great Hall were nearly shouting at each other to be heard. Unknown to them, they were being heard by nearly all. Hermione looked down at her plate as she was being debased.

“I’ll shut them up,” Barty hissed, irritated. He stood up.

"Nah, it's the new ‘un. The exotic one. That Greengrass lass looks so soft. Always got her teats on show. Bet they're nice and perky—"

“Narcissa!”

The rest of court fell silent even as the drunk men did not, guffawing and laughing as if the King’s mother was joke. Draco’s face was twisted in rage but, Narcissa stilled him with a hand to her wrist. She was waiting for their words.

“Narcissa is old, now. Used to be the prettiest, almost. Especially towards the end. Bellatrix was a right beauty. Narcissa was cold. Like she was untouchable. Like that in a woman.”

“Unfuckable now!”

“And old bitch in—”

“ _Avada Kedavra._ ”

The green light erupted and the man dropped dead, his strings cut. Hermione gaped as Narcissa slowly walked down from her table, down the aisle, her wand held aloft. Narcissa swept her wand, Summoning a sword into her hand. The men scrambled back, preparing to draw weapons but froze when they saw who approached.

“M-my Lady, we apologize. We didn’t...we meant no,” the man trailed off, shuddering.

Just Aurors who had been honored with sitting at court for the midday meal. No more. Hermione shook her head.

Fools.

Narcissa didn’t respond. She swung the sword with the practice of a warrior and neatly sliced through the man’s jugular. He gurgled once, collapsing onto his back. Narcissa threw the sword down into his chest, twisting so hard that his ribs must’ve cracked from the pressure. She ripped out the sword, splattering blood on her sky blue skirts.

Narcissa looked at the two remaining men and raised her wand. " _Crucio_ ,” she whispered.

One man crumpled, screaming louder than anything Hermione had ever heard. He twisted and writhed on the ground, his face speckled with his friend’s blood. Even when Narcissa looked away, bored, the man continued to scream, twitching as if he had been struck by lightning. The last man looked ready to run but one look from Narcissa kept him still as a mouse.

“Sister,” Andromeda drawled. “Mother always said not to play with your food.”

Hermione glowered at the woman. Andromeda still called Narcissa ‘sister’. Like she didn’t know that Narcissa was a kinslayer. Like she was okay with the fact that Narcissa was torturing these poor men.

"They must die," Daphne whispered in her ear like she knew what Hermione was thinking.

“This is senseless,” Hermione snapped softly.

"They slighted her. Narcissa Slytherin. One of the greatest witches alive. Have you considered that? What must it be like to be reduced to your beauty when you are one of the most powerful people alive? They must die," Pansy snarled, angrily, furious on the woman's behalf.

Hermione looked helplessly at Barty. Barty looked down at his plate.

The man was still screaming. And suddenly, he stopped. Hermione stood to watch him. He was frothing at the mouth, his eyes rolling around in his head as he lay on the ground, limp, barely breathing. Another green light and he was dead too.

Narcissa turned to the ringleader of it all. He stared at the mess of his friends in horror.

“What did you say about me?” Narcissa asked, her voice soft.

“I...I...my Lady, please. I’m _sorry_ ,” the ringleader stammered.

Narcissa’s lips curled into a smile. “I accept your apology,” she said firmly.

“W-what?” the ringleader whispered.

“I accept your apology. You apologized, so you may live. But, you still must be punished. Dolohov! _Elinguem._ ”

The man’s tongue was ripped from his mouth and landed limply in Narcissa’s outstretched palm. Blood spilled over her fingers, coloring the edge of her sky blue sleeve. Blood poured from the man’s mouth and he opened his mouth, wordless screams emerging out of agony. He tried to speak but, without a tongue, he could not.

Antonin Dolohov stood at Narcissa’s side, a hint of admiration in his eyes as he looked at the woman. Narcissa’s fingers closed around the tongue and she closed her eyes for just a moment, taking a deep breath to gather her rage. When she opened her eyes again, she was like ice once more.

"Is that all, my Lady?" Dolohov asked as if goading her.

“Azkaban,” Narcissa hissed. “You will remember me, friend. I will visit you every week, and you shall see my face. And you shall dream about the day you slighted Narcissa Godkiller.”

* * *

**THEM**

* * *

 

They met in the hallway.

Lucius always walked this corridor towards his Lord's study. It wasn't one that servants commonly used, especially when there weren't guests in the castle. Of course, there were guests in the castle due to court being in session but, still, it was still early. Court hadn't started just yet. Guests were still in their rooms, dining on the hearty breakfast that cost many coins. Lucius wondered if Narcissa was going to end that soon.

No use draining the coffers of the crown to feed frivolous nobles.

But, that wasn’t truly the point.

Lucius always walked the particular corridor to his Lord’s study. It was near a secret passageway that led from Lucius’ rooms to the Dark Lord, allowing him to reach his Lord within minutes.

But, they met anyway.

Father and son stared at each other for a long time, as if they had never quite seen each other before.

“Father.”

Draco’s voice was empty of a whine. Lucius couldn’t remember a time that his son had sounded like a man. He sounded like a man, then. There was no whine or fury. Just an absent-minded greeting, as if his mind rushed with thoughts, as a king’s mind should.

“Draco,” Lucius said.

Draco didn’t seem to mind that Lucius hadn’t called him ‘your Grace’. He didn’t leave either. He just stared at his father, the man that ghosted through the hallways. The man that he resembled greatly and yet, had never truly had a conversation with.

"I…" Draco frowned as if he weren't sure what to say.

Lucius swallowed, bewildered by the whole ordeal. “You are up early,” he said, instead.

“I didn’t go to sleep,” Draco muttered.

“No?” Lucius asked, his voice cracking slightly. Draco seemed not to notice, looking at the wall instead, his gaze out of focus.

“No. I was working.”

“Working?” Lucius asked.

"I am the King. I do my kingly duties. There is a war. I intend to win it. And so, I work," Draco said, so short and hesitant. He looked at Lucius then, with sharp gray eyes. Lucius' eyes. Lucius' father's eyes. Malfoy _eyes._ “Mother used to say I looked like you.”

“Used to say?” Lucius hated himself for only answering in questions but, he didn’t know what else to say.

What was there to say to the son that you were working to overthrow? The son that would inevitably die due to his mother’s sins? _His_ son. His boy.

“She doesn’t anymore. She says that I am not a Malfoy. I am a Slytherin. Only a Slytherin,” Draco said, quietly. He crossed his arms and looked up at his father, eyes wide.

“You are my son. You are a _Malfoy_ ,” Lucius said, his voice trembling. “At least, you should have been. I should have—”

_Protected you._

“Draco?”

She turned the corner, her eyes narrowed on Lucius. Ice blue eyes. In certain lights, Draco's eyes were the same color. But, not then. At that moment, the morning wasn't as strong as it could be and so his eyes were soft and gray.

“Mother,” Draco said, smiling gently at her. Narcissa swept forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Draco didn’t return it but, his eyes seemed warmer.

“He didn’t sleep,” Lucius supplied, helpfully.

Narcissa hummed. “My darling boy, you must sleep. Now, come, we will break our fast together and then you shall ready yourself for court.”

“There’s so much work to do,” Draco whispered. “There’s a war.”

“I know, my love. But, the war can wait. It will wait,” she said, her voice breaking and cracking as she smoothed her hands over his face, trying to turn Draco’s head to her. He looked down at her, the lost little boy that Lucius should have saved.

 _I should have saved you_ , he thought.

“Fire does not wait,” Draco said, sharply, his voice stronger.

“It will wait today,” Narcissa barked, with no room for argument. Draco drew back and nodded once. Narcissa’s gaze softened and she took Draco’s hands in hers. “Please. Please eat, my love. For your mother?”

“Aye, Mother,” Draco said softly and he let her lead him away. And then, he stopped. He looked over his shoulder at Lucius, with that curious gaze in his eyes. Lucius couldn’t tell what they meant. He didn’t know him well enough to know how to read Draco’s eyes. _His_ eyes. Malfoy eyes. “What should you have done, Father?”

“I don’t remember anymore,” Lucius said, his voice quiet.

His mind roared. _Coward._

Draco closed his eyes slowly, a sad smile spreading across his face. When he opened them again, his eyes were cold like ice and he looked like Narcissa’s child. Narcissa’s son. _Slytherin._

“Goodbye, Father,” Draco said.

Narcissa glared and tugged him along.

Lucius lifted his hand and whispered. “ _Goodbye,_ Draco Malfoy _._ ”

Draco twitched as if he had heard. He looked over his shoulder one more time and nearly smiled.

* * *

**ALL?**

* * *

 

Pius Thicknesse was a shrewd man.

He was careful and watchful and knew when he was being intimidated. He was an overseer of the main Crowmere Camp for a reason. So, he knew that he was being intimidated as he was escorted into the Order of the Phoenix’s camp.

The grounds were deserted but for soldiers that stood in battle robes, flanking him as he walked into the village, a heavy chest carried between two dim-witted trolls and a centaur woman that had led him to this camp. Her chest and were heavily scarred but only her breasts were covered by the leathers that Umbridge had allowed.

Pius looked around. A parade of hard-eyed redheaded warriors flanked him, bringing him deeper into camp, towards the very center. Pius saw the cottage and wondered if the deal would be made in such a humble little place. Except, the older woman that led them—Madame McGonagall, the leader of the Order of the Phoenix—continued past the cottage, and around the stables. They were nearing a paddock.

Pius flinched when he heard a terrible shriek, unlike anything he had ever heard before. It was not the shriek of a banshee but, something far more terrifying and foreboding.

Pius saw him first.

The Fairest was as beautiful as the stories claimed.

He sat in the middle, dressed in fine crimson robes, a coronet weaving into his hair, along the back of his head. The Fairest’s eyes burned bright green and his lips looked like they had been bitten raw. Pius had never taken a man to bed and had never had the urge to do so but he would take this man, if he could. This beautiful man.

And then Pius saw the rest. The albino lion cub that lounged in his lap. The enormous scaled beast that stood crouched next to him. Its poison yellow eyes were steady on Pius. Pius flinched back because if what he was seeing was true, this had to be a _dragon_. Dragons were extinct, and yet…here was a dragon. A dragon bigger than a horse.

“Now comes Pius Thicknesse, overseer of Crowmere Camp, to offer terms of peace,” a woman with thick pink curls and donning a red cloak said. Pius nodded as he took a step forward. He winced again as the scaled beast let out a screech that nearly everyone flinched from except for the Fairest.

The Fairest hadn’t spoken yet.

The woman continued, “Sir, you are in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm, Alpha of the Pride, and Fairest of Them All.”

The Fairest lifted his head. “You may approach,” he said. “Conjure him a seat.”

Even his voice was alluring.

Pius walked closer as if entranced. Madame McGonagall conjured a chair for him. It placed him at a lower level than the self-proclaimed King but, Pius didn't mind.

“Speak,” Madame McGonagall commanded.

Pius nodded and raised his chin. “Honorable and ancient are the Houses that have been chosen by King Draco to do his bidding. We are bound to him by blood and oaths and the Gilded Throne crafted in the ancient name of Slytherin. We are powerful and magic is might. You will not find us easy to subdue, your Grace,” Pius said coldly and Harry Wildfyre raised an eyebrow.

He leaned forward, with a seductive smile on his face. “The name Gryffindor is just as ancient. My name was old when dragons stirred the earth. So, do not speak to me about ancient honor, Sir.”

Pius watched as Harry Summoned a large shaved sheep and barked out a command in an ancient language that he did not understand. He flinched as the dragon shrieked and lunged forward, spitting fire onto it and devouring it to the left of them. The dragon spat and snarled and the smell of burning charred meat filled Pius’ nose.

“If blood is your desire, blood will flow,” Pius allowed, covering his nose. “But, why should it come to this? Yes, we are loyal to _our_ King...your King…but, we are not fools. Bring it forth!”

Harry Wildfyre sat back in his chair, waiting as the trolls lumbered forward, the trunk swinging back and forth in their hands. They set it down before the Fairest of Them All. The girl centaur walked forward and bent over to lift the trunk open. Harry Wildfyre was staring at her, something soft in his green eyes.

“What is this?” Harry Wildfyre asked, softly.

“Galleons. 10,000 Galleons. We offer it to you in exchange for you leaving Crowmere Camps alone. We are not concerned with your war. Only maintaining the welfare of the _humans_ of the empire. These creatures...what do they mean to you? They are nothing. They mean nothing. So, in exchange, for leaving _nothing_ alone, we offer you a gift,” Pius said, firmly and he waited for the Fairest to speak.

And then the Fairest smiled.

“I have a gift for you as well,” he said, standing from his chair and he hissed the language again. The dragon lunged from its meal, curling around the offered trunk of gold as the trolls staggered back, dim. “Your life.”

Pius rocked up from his chair, pulling his wand immediately. “What?” he barked.

“But, I want something in return,” the Fairest said, sweetly. “I will take these creatures. These two trolls, this centaur woman, and they are mine now. And you will go to your main outpost, and you will free the creature. Every man, woman, child and anything in between. And you will pay them for their servitude and their pain. Reject this gift, and you will not learn mercy.”

Pius took a step forward, snarling, his shrewdness leaving him in his fury.

“You are not my _King_. But, you are mad. We are the servants of the King Draco and he would take great pleasure in knowing where you are and destroying you,” Pius barked out and he looked over Harry, allowing him a lewd look. “Perhaps you’d be a slave as well. The whorehouses could always use another bed slave.”

The dragon shrieked angrily and Pius staggered back, looking at the centaur woman. She shivered, taking a step forward but, Harry Wildfyre shook his head.

“How rude to reject my gift of life. Well, then…no. We have no slaves here. You are free, woman, to do as you please. But, you, Sir, will leave in ashes. And I will send you to them in a box so that they will know that I will come. I will come and break every chain,” Harry Wildfyre said and he held out his hand. “FREIA!”

The dragon snarled, crawling forward and Pius watched as the dragon stood just behind Harry Wildfyre. The Order stepped back as the dragon spread its great wings and Harry Wildfyre did not move as he pointed at Pius and hissed, _“Füir_.”

And Pius Thicknesse ended as ashes in the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say, that when writing this chapter, the hardest part was writing that scene of Draco and Lucius. It was definitely the most heartbreaking scene that I've written so far. I'm a big lover of angst but this was a lot for me. It was just really hard because this is a father and son that never really built a relationship and gave a glimpse of how this whole mess could have been avoided if Lucius had stepped up as a father. Anyway, this won't be the end of Lucius struggling with what is inevitably going to happen to his family so, keep on the look out for that.
> 
> Anyway, yeah, I like this chapter for all that it's mostly set-up for bigger things to come. Thanks for reading.
> 
> HOPE YOU KUDOS AND/OR DROP A COMMENT!


	7. Chapter Seven

Andromeda walked briskly from the morning meal, her skirts twisting and tangling between her legs. Her purposeful step echoed through the large stone halls of Hogwarts, followed by the clinking of her ever-present chainmail. For some reason, she was reminded of her childhood. She remembered ghosting through the halls, following after Narcissa as she ran and skipped and laughed.

That laughter had been silenced after Tom had gone away. That laughter had gone away when their father had sat her on the throne for the first time and whispered about how it might be hers one day. It had all gone away when their father had pitted them again each other, turning them into _monsters._ When Tom had become the vindictive, terrible tragedy that he had been born to be.

As she approached her rooms, she paused when she saw that Romilda stood outside of the room.

“Romilda?” she barked.

The doe-eyed girl jumped and stared at her mistress. "I...someone is here to speak with you, Lady Warden," she said. "They asked that the servants leave."

“Voldemort?” Andromeda asked even as she pushed her door open.

She paused when she saw the young man standing by the doors to her balcony. His hair was loose, waving to his shoulders. His golden skin glowed in the sunlight. When he turned to her, Andromeda noticed his new facial hair first.

"Facial hair suits you," Andromeda said, looking at the small touch of hair underneath his bottom lip, his new mustache and the hair that prickled along his chin a threadbare beard.

“Thank you, Lady Warden,” Regulus of House Black said.

Andromeda’s lips twitched. Regulus was formal at the best of times, even when Andromeda had practically raised the boy. In fact, she _had_ raised the boy, and still, her ward was so stiff. Andromeda walked up to the young man and immediately wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. Regulus only hesitated for half a second but, in that second, Andromeda knew.

Andromeda pulled back, sighing. “You’re here about my letter,” she said.

“Of course,” Regulus said, his voice sharp.

Andromeda turned and pulled her wand. “ _Repello Hominem. Muffliato_ ,” she cast, watching the room take on a shivering feeling, a light buzz in the back of her mind from the Muffling Charm.

"I've already done all that," Regulus said. "I wasn't properly announced. I just...I just Portkeyed. I don't want this be overheard nor do I want to be seen."

Andromeda paused. Her ward had actually done something without overthinking it. He was upset then.

“Regulus, it wasn’t necessary for you to come. I was just getting ready to announce my leave from Hogwarts,” Andromeda insisted.

Regulus shook himself, appearing rather frazzled. “That…Lady Warden! You have pledged yourself to a King that you know nothing about?”

“I know enough,” Andromeda said, sharply. She watched as Regulus flinched, cowed by her irritation. Andromeda straightened, throwing her shoulders back. “My sisters committed terrible crimes and he will bring justice. He is everything this empire doesn’t deserve. He is everything my brother doesn’t deserve.”

“Anyone that could love your monster of a brother is a _fool_ ,” Regulus snarled back, angrily.

“Then, I am a fool!” Andromeda roared. Regulus flinched back, his eyes wide. “My brother is a monster. My brother is a disgusting piece of shit. But, he is still my _brother_. He is my _blood_. And that man can save my _brother_. That man convinced my brother to give me my child back.”

Regulus faltered. “Nymphadora?”

Andromeda’s lips tilted in a rueful smile. She looked away, unable to swallow the giddiness as she thought of the pink-haired woman.

“Nymphadora lives. He isn’t a kinslayer,” Andromeda whispered. “And Harry Wildfyre gave me my child back. He convinced _him_ to give my child back.”

Regulus couldn’t help his own smile. He looked at her, really looked at his cousin. The constant grief that she carried with her was reduced. She had long gotten over her husband’s death but, the loss of her child had been dragged behind her for so long that she had aged with the grief. Now, she looked years younger.

But, he had to be her voice of reason.

“But, that means you forgive him?” Regulus demanded. “After he killed your husband? After he destroyed your happiness? After he unlawfully put my brother in the darkest hellhole in the world?”

“No,” Andromeda corrected. “I can never...no. But, I didn’t promise Afallon to my brother. I gave it to Harry. The Fairest. Oh, Regulus, he _is_ beautiful.”

“So, his beauty bewitches you?” Regulus asked, unimpressed.

Andromeda paused, rolling her eyes. Regulus stared back at her, unapologetic in his stance.

“My brother...lets the Fairest call him ‘Tom’.”

Regulus froze.

“Pardon?” he whispered.

Andromeda smiled. “My brother is in love with him. Harry Wildfyre is all that is kind and good and just. He is the best parts of Lily and James Potter, and my brother _loves_ him. He doesn’t realize it but, he does.”

“Your brother is broken,” Regulus snapped.

"And yet, my brother is in love. If someone like Harry Wildfyre could see the good in my brother, a good that died long ago, then he can do anything," Andromeda whispered and she reached forward, grabbing Regulus' hands in hers, pulling him closer. The young man looked lost as if everything he had ever thought was wrong. "He does the impossible. He has gotten the support of goblins, the centaurs. Alfheim comes to his aide. They come to him. He has a _dragon_. And he needs us.”

“A dragon?” Regulus squeaked.

Andromeda nodded. "A dragon. Harry Wildfyre is going to take the throne. He will sit on the Gilded Throne and bring peace. I know it. Trust me, Regulus. Harry Wildfyre will be the good that this empire hasn't seen in _decades_.”

Regulus swallowed.

“And my brother?” he whispered.

“He will be _free_. I swear it,” Andromeda promised.

And finally, Regulus relented. He nodded, weakly. He took a step away from her, looking out towards the Westeron tents that were slowly being taken down even as they spoke. He paused when he saw the three men that walked through the chaos, cloaks billowing behind them as he walked with a single-minded purpose. Regulus ground his teeth.

Lucius Malfoy.

Severus Snape.

And the _Dark Lord._

“I won’t ever forgive him,” Regulus promised as he kept his eyes trained on the red-eyed man, a smugness in the way he held himself. “Nor will I forget.”

Andromeda looked at him, solemn. “I never thought you would.”

Regulus nodded. “Then, Lady Warden, please tell your brother and sister that I am here. I will see to the packing of the camp. And then, we move to Afallon.”

Andromeda smirked. “Then, we move to Afallon.”

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

“We can’t possibly reach Westeron unnoticed?” Ginny asked as she walked with through the camp with her brothers. Percy was muttering to himself, looking over his parchment and nodding. Ginny was vaguely impressed.

Percy knew everyone at camp, due to his amazing memory. He was doing an admirable job of keeping everything organized. Everyone had been set a task, and under Percy’s watch, it would only take a fortnight to finish packing and to begin the journey to Westeron.

“We can and we will,” Percy muttered.

Ron snorted. “He’s right, as _always_. Madame McGonagall thinks that able-bodied Muggles and magical users will travel in large groups of forty to fifty, some by way of the Forest, others in boats at the port cities in the South. Children and caretakers will be made Portkeys."

“Why can’t we Portkey everyone?” Ginny asked, curiously. She waved at Petunia, who was busy folding fresh laundry. The woman nodded and turned back to her large son, muttering quietly at him as he took the fresh laundry and lumbered away with it towards a pack of boys that were pressing folded linens into baskets and handwoven bags.

“That much magical upheaval will definitely alert the Usurper and his forces. They’ll know. It’s best to travel in the night, in separate groups. Have you been assigned your group yet?” Percy asked and Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean? Group?”

Percy looked up from his list and sighed, staring at her with annoyance. Ginny rolled her eyes and waved her hands, pressing her older brother to go on. Exasperated, he sighed, dramatically and rolled up his scroll, tucking it beneath his arm. Ginny couldn’t help but notice the blots of ink staining the back of his hands, alongside the millions of freckles.

“The King has put forth the idea that an Order member of two should escort a group. There are nearly 1500 of us. Excluding fighters, there are 1200 or so civilians. Take away the elderly and the children, that’s 1000 people to escort that can’t exactly defend themselves like soldiers could. About 20 groups to escort. We will each take command of a group of civilians, dividing the fighting amongst ourselves as our own squads. It’s rather genius,” Percy said, sounding admiring.

Ginny nodded. It was a good plan. It was funny to see her older brother attracted to the King though unsurprising it was. Every man and woman was attracted to Harry. He was beautiful and kind and talented and _good_.

“It’s a good plan. It means McGonagall trusts us if he’s already told you,” Ron said, puffing out his chest somewhat. Ginny rolled her eyes but, didn’t disagree with him. McGonagall would only agree with it if she trusted the plan to work.

It was dangerous, still, moving such a large camp but, Afallon was the safest place for them. Behind the ancient wards of Westeron, protected by _three_ Slytherins—Tonks, Andromeda, and the Dark Lord—the camp would stand. The civilians would be protected and there was more space there to grow. The Alfheimeans would meet them there, and Andromeda's army of 1000 would come to them. Hopefully, the major Houses of the West—House Smith, House Cadwallader, and House Rickett—would follow after. Another 200 soldiers each Muggle and magical alike.

Perhaps, the Dark Lord _was_ proving useful.

“Where do you think the King is?” Percy asked, curiously, color high in his cheeks.

“Harry?” Ron asked.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. Perhaps, Percy’s fascination was more than an attraction. He had a _crush_ on him.

“Yes. I was speaking with Charlie and Hagrid, about the logistics of transporting Freia. It would be most prudent for her to fly but, that would ruin the element of surprise, I expect. I wanted to consult him,” Percy said, puffing himself up, all self-important.

Ginny grinned as they walked along the edges, around the paddock. Freia was lying lazily against the great fence that really did nothing to keep her in. If she wanted to, she could take off, though she was a well-behaved dragon. Hedwig wasn’t there for once, so that meant Harry must have her tucked close.

Ginny led her two brothers farther down, towards the edges of the forest.

“He’s a good king, isn’t he?” Ron said, almost ruefully.

“Yes. I think he is,” Ginny said, softly, remembering what he had done at Godric’s Hollow. She sighed, shaking her head. “He’s reckless and wild and quick to temper but, he’s good. Good in a way that I haven’t seen in my life.”

It was hard, sometimes, to remember that she had lived less than two decades. She felt so very old sometimes.

“Do you think he’ll stay good, on the throne?” Ron asked.

Percy nodded, emphatically. “As long as he keeps good advisors.”

“And the Dark Lord? Do you think he makes a good advisor?” Ginny challenged, darkly. She still questioned _that_ decision.

Percy deflated. “I...well...the Dark Lord knows the law. But, I’ve been studying. I think that…”

Percy trailed off and Ginny followed the direction of his gaze.

Hedwig was bowling over herself, running back and forth, weaving around the tree trunks. She never strayed far from her master. Harry’s back was pressed against a tree trunk, his head tilted back lazily as the Dark Lord crowded against him, running his fingers over the length of his neck, drinking him in like a man dying of thirst. Harry barely twitched at the man’s fingers, as if he were used to Voldemort touching him.

“Someone’s going to come,” Voldemort hissed, softly.

Harry hummed. “Why would they? I could be anywhere else in the camp.”

“You _should_ be anywhere else. You want your foolish plan to work, yes? They will be waiting for you. We must prepare,” Voldemort murmured as he pressed his forehead against the bark of the tree that Harry leaned against.

“Merlin, shut _up_. I need silence. For _once._ Just be _quiet_ ,” Harry snapped, irritated.

Voldemort chuckled softly. “ _Inwi nwaly ten’ke.”_

Harry’s breath caught and he cleared his throat. Harry lifted his hand, burying his fingers in Voldemort’s hair, grabbing tight at the root and tugging lightly so that Voldemort looked him in the eye.

“If you ever pull a stunt like that in front of Andromeda…in front of anyone…if you _ever_ use me as a pawn again, I'll kill you."

The conviction in Harry’s soft voice made Voldemort’s eyes widen. Voldemort tipped Harry’s head up, running his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip, dragging it down. Harry stared at him, barely reacting as Voldemort released him, letting his lip snap back into place.

“Understood,” Voldemort drawled.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a right bastard, do you know that?” he whispered.

“So I’ve been told.”

And then Voldemort’s hands skirted up Harry’s sides, settling on his waist and dragged him closer. A short breath escaped Harry as they were pressed together, staring at each other in silence. Harry shivered and he let his head fall forward, pressing his forehead against Voldemort’s clavicle.

“What are you doing to me?” Harry whispered. “I can’t trust you. I can’t _trust_ you.”

Voldemort said nothing, only settling his chin on top of Harry’s head. And then he turned his warbright eyes onto the hidden Weasley children, narrowing them in irritation. Ginny took a step back, grabbing at Percy and Ron’s wrists and tugging him away. She thanked all of the gods in the world that Ron had decided at _that_ moment to show the tact that he hadn’t been blessed with at birth.

As they stumbled away from the private moment, Percy came back to life.

“That was… we should tell McGonagall,” Percy said, his voice frantic and cracking.

“Tell her what?” Ginny asked, her voice stony.

Ron glared at his sister. “You saw that. Harry said that he doesn’t trust him. If Harry doesn’t trust Voldemort, then we should tell McGonagall.”

“That’s not why we should tell her,” Ginny scoffed. “And that wasn’t what Harry was talking about. He trusts Voldemort with the war.”

“What else could he be talking about?” Ron demanded.

“Harry doesn’t trust Voldemort with himself. Harry’s in love with him. And if you two think McGonagall doesn’t know, you’re an idiot.”

Percy swallowed, shaking his head. “I have...I have so much work to do,” he said, excusing himself.

Ginny and Ron watched their brother stumble away.

And, for once, Ron had nothing to say at all.

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

The door slammed open. Andromeda looked up, lazily from her trunks, her eyes zeroing in on the young woman in the doorway. Hermione Granger was breathing hard, her wand clutched against her chest as she tried to catch her breath. The Lady’s shadow, the little blonde slip of a girl that Rodolphus was fucking, was staring between Andromeda and the two servants that were on the floor, properly Stunned.

“You Stunned my servants,” Andromeda said. She waved her wand, watching as the rest of her dresses neatly folded themselves and flew into the trunk. The trunk slammed shut with a resounding slam.

“They wouldn’t...they wouldn’t let me in,” Hermione gasped. Her shadow turned, shutting the doors behind them and took her place at Hermione’s shoulder. “You’re _leaving_.”

She said it like a curse, a condemnation. Andromeda gave her a soft smile and slowly walked towards her. Hermione winced as Andromeda took her hands.

“It is time for me to go,” Andromeda said gently. Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Andromeda shook her head. “There is work to be done.”

"Work to be done? Of course, there is! But, it's to be done here. You can't...you can't _leave_ me,” Hermione whispered, her voice trembling and cracking. Andromeda lifted her chin.

“Do not weep, Hermione Granger. You have the will of thousands and a spine of steel. You will stay unbowed, unbent, unbroken. You will live on,” Andromeda said, firmly. “You will survive.”

“I can’t do this by myself. You won’t...none of you will _help_ me. Narcissa killed her sister. Draco doesn’t beat me only because he is afraid of his uncle. Daphne Greengrass wishes to replace me. I am alone in a foreign land and none of you will _help_ me!” Hermione said, nearly screaming, spittle flying from her mouth.

Andromeda’s eyes narrowed. Hermione suddenly pulled away, as if realizing that the woman before her was no ordinary woman. Andromeda was Warden of the West. Andromeda was a _Slytherin_. And Andromeda could taste her fear and her grief and all that madness that stirred inside of her.

“I will always help you. I told you that something would be done. And it will be. _Accio_ mirror,” Andromeda said. The handheld mirror that she used to communicate with Regulus flew into her hand.

It was old tarnished silver. On the back was a carved rose. It had been Andromeda’s mother’s mirror. Andromeda placed it in Hermione’s hands.

“What is this?” Hermione whispered.

“A two-way mirror. I have the other one in Westeron. You may always call me when you are afraid. And you _are_ afraid,” Andromeda whispered when Hermione lifted her head to protest. Hermione curled inwards and looked down at the mirror.

“They’ll kill me,” Hermione whispered.

Andromeda shook her head. “Never. Someone made a promise to save you.”

Hermione faltered. “Who?”

“He is coming,” said the shadow.

Andromeda and Hermione turned towards the slight little blonde.

“Who’s coming?” Hermione demanded.

“Wyrdfod. The Wyrdfod is coming. And fire will set you free,” Luna promised.

And then, Andromeda knew.

“Who is the Wyrdfod?” Hermione snapped. “You said...you said it was just a _prophecy_.”

“And as Master Crouch said, prophecies have _power_ ,” Luna murmured. “The Wyrdfod is the Chosen One. The Prince of Gryffindor. The _Fairest_ of Them All.”

And Hermione looked at Andromeda in horror. “The Dark Lord will kill you for betraying him. For allying with a boy that has only a band of bandits at his side and no _idea_ of what Draco is capable of.”

Andromeda wanted to laugh.

This girl knew nothing. This girl had no idea about the power that Harry Wildfyre possessed. She had no idea about his dragon or his lioness or the fire that he called as easy as breathing. She had no idea about the force of his beauty or his will. She had no idea about the hold that he had over her brother. Her hopelessly in love brother.

Instead, Andromeda gave a grim smile as she shrunk her trunk and tucked it close in one of her inner pockets. She was dressed to ride West. She would ride across the Western Bridge before Apparating straight to Westeron to help oversee the great move.

Now, the room was bare. Her room, that she had had when she was a child, looked untouched and unlived in, just as it had been when she was a girl. She didn’t feel sorrow. After all, Hogwarts hadn’t been Andromeda’s home in such a long time.

She looked at Hermione who looked as if she were holding herself together with silks and glue. Andromeda sighed.

“My dear, I will take that chance.”

* * *

**ON**

* * *

 

Narcissa didn’t spare them a glance. They pushed the doors open for her, allowing her into the Great Hall. She looked around, a single sculpted eyebrow raised in observation.

The room was busy, for court not being in session. The servants bustled around, carefully polishing and replacing the stained glass windows behind the Gilded Throne. The white running carpet was bright white, the old rust-colored stains gone. Narcissa wondered if the carpet had been replaced or simply cleaned. Draco stood before the dais of the Gilded Throne, his hands clasped behind his back as he observed.

“What’s this about?” Narcissa called.

Draco turned on his heel. He smiled at his mother. It was nearly the boyish smile that Narcissa was so used to, if it weren’t for the grimness in his eyes.

“Returning the Great Hall to its true glory. This is the hall of a conqueror. It should be matched. The runner was a thing of Aunt Bellatrix’s reign. We shall have it washed anew,” Draco said firmly as he strode forward, gesturing as the servants placed the fractured green windows, all depicting the Slytherin crest.

The room was decorated in hanging green banners, the banners of her father. Narcissa wasn't sure whether to be elated or dismayed. There was no love lost between her and her father. She had been an active and willing participant in the Hogwarts Massacre.

“I see. Your uncle will not be happy with the replacement of that carpet,” Narcissa murmured.

Voldemort liked his trophies and the carpet that had held the stains of Godric Gryffindor had certainly been a representation of his highest achievement. The murder of two Founders.

“Uncle is never pleased. I will no longer concern myself with such things. All that matters is the continuation of my reign. No matter _what_ ,” Draco said, his voice hard. He glanced at his mother, as if pondering something. “Are the coffers still full?”

Narcissa hesitated. “We have lost men, Draco. Their families are owed salaries for five years. The coffers aren’t _empty_ , per say.”

“Why must we give them salaries? More Muggles were lost than true wizarding families,” Draco snapped, irritated and Narcissa’s eyes narrowed on her son.

“Perhaps. But, Gregory Goyle’s death has lost us a few thousand galleons in recompense. A family lost their heir, Draco,” Narcissa retorted.

Draco’s face hardened at the mention of his deceased friend.

“They are young yet. They may fuck and have more.”

Narcissa’s lips twisted at her son’s crassness but, she could see the irritation in the way he moved, his eyes flickering back and forth through the Great Hall. It would not due for him to kill a house elf.

“Your aunt has left,” she said instead.

“Good riddance. Aunt Andromeda is a bore,” Draco snarled.

Narcissa sniffed. “Andromeda is the Warden of the West. I wish you would endear yourself to her. To ensure her loyalty.”

“What other reason must she have to be loyal besides my rule as king and the blood we share? The throne is mine,” Draco demanded angrily.

Narcissa resisted the urge to smile. Her boy had had to grow up so fast and yet, still, he thought like a child. Blood was not the bond that he thought it was. Blood did not fasten loyalty or promise aide. Only power did so, and Andromeda, though only the Warden, was a Slytherin.

“Of course it is,” Narcissa said, placatingly. She stepped forward, stroking her son’s cheek, softly. “But, I only warn you. Blood is not everything, my love. Love is not everything.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed with cruelty.

“I’m sure. Father’s an example of that, isn’t he?” Draco began.

Narcissa paused. “How do you mean?”

“I mean that you and Father only had me. Did he fuck other women when he got tired of you? Did you do something to make him go away? Were you so dried up—”

And Narcissa lifted her wand and hissed, “ _Crucio_.”

Draco let out a sharp cry and fell to his knees. The entire room went silent and Narcissa lifted the curse as fast as she had cast it. She twitched, caught between horror and awe, satisfaction and terror. Had she always been capable of that? So quick to anger? Perhaps, not. She took a deep breath, centering herself. She was ice.

Instead, she looked down at her son as he twitched, the aftershocks of agony making his legs quiver and his arms tremble. Draco stared at her like he had never seen her before and Narcissa sighed. She would make amends.

“Draco, my love, I apolo—”

“What you did is punishable by death,” Draco threatened. “You will never do it again. Never.”

Narcissa’s bottom lip curled. She took a step forward and Draco faltered as his mother drew herself to her full height. He was much taller than her but, still, she seemed to take up so much space.

“You think you can kill me, my sweet boy?” Narcissa rasped. “I am Narcissa Godkiller. I _put_ you on that throne and I can take you off. Do you understand?”

Draco looked at her as if he was seeing her the first time. He took a step back and nodded, looking down at the ground. Pink burned high in his cheeks, and he twitched with his humiliation. He looked up again and Narcissa’s gaze had not wavered. Not even for a second.

She expected an answer.

“Yes, Mother. I understand.”

* * *

**THE**

* * *

 

Gabrielle smoothed down her hair, playing with the ends of her braid as she sat in front of the hearth. Her body was stinging, her arms covered in fresh black and purple bruises and aging yellow and green spots. Deyanira was a cruel teacher but, her methods were proving effective. It had been over a month since Deyanira had begun her training Gabrielle, and Gabrielle already felt stronger. Fenrir insisted it was because she was a quick learner.

Gabrielle agreed readily; she would hate to admit that it was all because Deyanira was truly a talented teacher.

Gabrielle grabbed a pinch of Floo dust from the small pot next to her and threw it into the flames. The flames sparked green and Gabrielle’s lips curled into a small smile when a head appeared in the flames, shiny blonde hair spilling forth.

“Fleur,” Gabrielle murmured.

“Oh, Gabrielle,” Fleur nearly sobbed and she jerked as if she wanted to reach forward and wrap Gabrielle in a tight hug. “Can I come through?”

Gabrielle hesitated. “Fenrir’s protection charms don’t allow anyone coming through. And he doesn’t like unannounced guests.”

Fleur looked too exhausted to be properly put out. She only nodded.

“How have you been?” Fleur said in a rush.

Gabrielle’s lips pulled into a small smile. “Married life agrees with me. This life agrees with me.”

“You’re glowing,” Fleur commented, as if she hated to admit it. It just made Gabrielle’s lips pull into an even wider smile. She knew that Fleur wasn’t only talking about her happiness. Gabrielle was turning sixteen soon.

Her pale hair glowed even in the daylight now.

"Thanks," Gabrielle murmured. "Fenrir says that he doesn't even notice the difference. He is kind to me, Fleur, just as I thought he would be. I think...perhaps, that, I love him."

And Gabrielle _did_ love Fenrir, and she imagined that he loved her too. He was kind and worldly. He never snapped at her or struck out at her. He trusted her with the run of the whole house even when he was away on his day trips for business. And he never left her alone for too long. The house was too big to be alone.

“I admit that I’m relieved to hear you say that. I never wanted you to marry for protection, Gabrielle. Only for love. As our parents did,” Fleur said, softly and Gabrielle’s gaze softened and she nodded.

“I know, Fleur. I know all you wanted was to protect me. But, you can’t shelter me anymore. I’m no longer a child. I can protect myself,” Gabrielle insisted.

Fleur sighed. “But, I worry, Gabrielle.”

“I know,” Gabrielle murmured.

Fleur hummed, looking over Gabrielle as if searching for injuries. Gabrielle shifted, grunting quietly as the movement pulled at her aches and pains. Fleur gasped as she caught sight of the bruises that lined Gabrielle’s arms. Gabrielle pulled her cloaked tighter around her body.

“You said that he was kind to you!” Fleur shrieked in horror.

“He is,” Gabrielle snapped, angrily. Fleur shifted restlessly, scattering ashes and flaming coals and pieces of wood as she tried to push through Fenrir’s carefully placed wards. “Calm _down,_ Fleur. They’re not even from him. I’ve been...he’s found someone to train me.”

Fleur stilled.

“How do you mean...train you?”

“He says that he cannot even think of striking me, so he has brought in his second-in-command to teach me to fight with a sword and a staff. We will move onto magic soon, I suspect. I told you that he would teach me how to protect myself,” Gabrielle said, haughty and annoyed but, she relaxed as Fleur seemed to settle, pulling back her own personal ire.

Fleur looked hesitant.

“Are you _sure_?” Fleur asked.

“I’m sure.”

Fleur watched her with the uncomfortably shrewd eyes of a mother. And then she relaxed.

“Now, tell me. What does your husband feed you in the mornings? You look so good.”

* * *

**WALL**

* * *

 

Hermione knelt by the flowers, aching to bury her face in the bright red poppies. They were beautiful, more vibrant than any other flowers that Hermione had ever seen in her short life. She plucked one from the dirt, roots and all pressed a kiss to it. Neville had said that she could take any that she liked. Hermione would repot this one in her room. A small spot of beauty in a world so grey and terrible.

Someone cleared their throat gently.

Hermione leaped up, her skirts swirling around her legs as she watched Daphne Greengrass. Daphne brushed forward, her green skirts brushing across her bare feet. Her skirts were green like the ocean. It suited her well.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Daphne said with a small smile.

“You haven’t,” Hermione said, smoothing her skirts and holding the poppy to her chest. Daphne tilted her head, a curious look on her face.

“You roam quite free, don’t you?” Daphne asked, softly.

Hermione hummed. “I have been told that I’m not a prisoner. That remains to be seen,” Hermione drawled and Daphne’s lips pulled into a wide smile as she giggled.

Daphne leaped forward, looping an arm through Hermione's and tugged her forward. Hermione fell into step with her, tilting her head down towards the woman. Daphne was a petite woman, much shorter than Hermione, and beautiful. Hermione repressed her sneer.

“You look lovely today,” Daphne murmured. “You are so stunning. No wonder the King wishes you to be his bride.”

“I’ve no idea why the King has chosen me. Frankly, I think he should’ve taken an Albion woman as his bride,” Hermione said loftily. She wasn’t lying then. She thought that it would make the most sense for him to marry someone from an Albion House.

Instead, he was set on marrying _her._ A Muggleborn woman from the Laug Republic, who was disobedient and too tall and a know-it-all. He would _hate_ her. Hermione had no doubt that only Blaise’s whispers into Draco’s ear kept her as his betrothed. Hermione did not miss Draco’s wandering eye. She never thought she would thank her selfish stepbrother for anything but, in that, she was grateful.

Anything to stop the fast approaching disposal.

“But, you are _beautiful_ ,” Daphne insisted.

Hermione scoffed. “I have seen more beautiful women, Lady Greengrass.”

“My sister, Astoria, was the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” Daphne said as they walked around the greenhouse, strangely alone for a greenhouse that was usually bustling with people.

Hermione wondered if that was Daphne’s doing.

“More beautiful than you? Surely not,” Hermione said, as pleasant as possible.

Daphne snorted. “Aye, more beautiful than me. She was a warrior, long and strong. She’s younger than me, and still, even while I was bones and spindly arms, she was strong and beautiful. Like a drowned goddess sent to torture me.”

“A drowned goddess? What an odd turn of phrase,” Hermione said, pointedly.

Daphne didn't even seem to notice, shrugging it off as one of her many eccentricities. Hermione cataloged it. If Daphne wanted to underestimate her, fine. But, Hermione would not make the same mistake. She tightened herself to Daphne's side.

“I prayed that she’d catch a horrible skin disease. A week later she caught Velvet Disease,” Daphne sighed and Hermione frowned.

“Velvet Disease? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Hermione said. She hated admitting such a thing and she wished Luna had been there to inform her of something like that.

“Oh, do you not have that in the Republic? It’s a skin disease that gives the infected dusty gold scales and a terrible fever that finds itself in the blood. Of course, she healed. The scales remained and she is even more beautiful for it,” Daphne sighed, shaking her head.

She didn’t sound particularly angry. Her lips were curled into a small smile. Hermione frowned and leaned forward, curiously.

“Why was your sister not fostered along with you?” Hermione asked, softly.

Daphne sighed, shaking her head. “My father would never let her go and she didn’t want to leave. I did.”

“Where _are_ you from?” Hermione asked, more bite in her voice this time and Daphne shook her head, pulling away to bury her face in a bouquet of peonies. She pulled away and laughed at Hermione’s raised eyebrow.

“You must come to Essetir. Do you like the gardens?” Daphne asked.

“Aye, I do.”

"Then, you must come visit me at Arcadia. It is wonderful. A saltwater river runs underneath the castle and it is lovely to bathe in, and some of the plants prefer such an environment. The gardens are vast and far and wonderful," Daphne babbled as she turned to look at Hermione with excitement. "Neville and my grandmother would love to host you."

“And the King? You would host the King?” Hermione asked, coldly.

Daphne’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I am to be married to the King. I will be Queen. Your Queen,” Hermione said, sharply and if her accent was more pronounced in her cold irritation, so be it. She would be the foreign bitch Queen that Draco insisted that she be.

“You don’t like the King. If you don’t want to stay, Hermione, we could protect—” Daphne began.

“Protect me?” Hermione laughed. “From what? What more protection could there be than in being ‘Queen’? I will stay here, Daphne Greengrass, no matter that you want me gone.”

"I don't want you gone!" Daphne protested. There was a panicked edge to her voice that she controlled nearly immediately.

But, Hermione had seen her slip. Daphne was telling some truth but, not all of it. She was gathering herself again and Hermione shook herself. Hermione was a common Muggleborn, it was true. But, she was a fast learner and she had learned the intrigues of court as soon as she had pulled herself together.

“You will not steal my spot in court. I do not like the King but, I have the Dark Lord’s protection against him. I do not _need_ you. You will stay away from me, Daphne Greengrass, and the King or I will tell him that you're up to something," Hermione said, taking a step forward, her eyes narrowed as she looked over Daphne.

“I’m loyal to King Draco!”

“No. You’re not,” Hermione said, flatly. Before Daphne could breathe another word in protest, Hermione drew her wand and had it pressed against the line of Daphne’s jaw. “I have been beaten and abused. Destroyed. But, I _will_ survive to see my vengeance. Through _any_ means necessary. _Don’t_ get in my way.”

* * *

**WHO**

* * *

 

Harry sat amongst his council, looking each of them in the eye. They waited for his answer. It sent a thrill of satisfaction through Harry—the fact that they waited for him. It all depended on him. Harry didn’t even turn to look at Voldemort for approval. He could feel the man’s war-bright eyes trained on his face.

“I will buy the creatures from them,” Harry declared.

McGonagall tilted her head, considering. “How do you mean?”

“And with what money? We don’t have a loan yet,” Bill reminded him and Harry snorted, gesturing blankly to the trunk of gold that sat in the corner of the room, purposefully ignored.

No one wanted to be reminded of Harry’s ruthless dealings with Pius Thicknesse. The way his skin had bubble and curled away from muscle, blackening into ash. Some had looked away. Harry had never flinched. He didn’t regret Pius’ execution. He didn’t regret it at all and he never would.

“It seems that I’ve been given a gift. I want to buy the creatures from them,” Harry said firmly.

He watched his council lurch. McGonagall exchanged a quick glance with Tonks and Bill. Bill leaned forward, nervously tapping his fingers against the edge of the long table.

"We need that money. It'll support us on the road to Westeron and afterward. We need it to buy iron, steel, cloth—" Bill stammered, listing off their needs.

“And we will have it,” Harry said, serenely.

Voldemort hummed. “Your Grace, this seems unwise,” Voldemort said, pointedly.

Harry grinned. “Perhaps. But, if we free the creatures, they will be loyal. It will add a great amount to our numbers and encourage further support amongst the common people. Godric’s Hollow was only the first step. They will whisper my name—Harry Wildfyre.”

“The Boy-Who-Lived,” Voldemort said, mockingly. Harry snorted, rolling his eyes.

“The Man-Who-Survived,” Harry corrected. He looked around the table, eyeing their skepticism and paying no mind to it. “They know that I will come. So, I must come. I will break their chains of bondage. We have _no slaves_ in the empire.”

He said it, without any room for argument, narrowing his eyes at the Lord of House Slytherin. Voldemort leaned back in his chair. His face didn’t twitch and Harry knew that he had won. He turned towards the rest of his council and nodded once.

“Then, when will you buy them, your Grace? How will we survive without coin?” Ginny asked, carefully. She looked relaxed, as if she trusted Harry to have an answer.

“You won’t need to. I plan to go after you leave. We will divide 5000 galleons equally amongst us, and then, I will take the other half. Then, I will go to Crowmere Camp and buy the creatures.”

“You plan? Alone, is that right?” Tonks challenged.

Harry raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m assuming you have a problem with that.”

“Respectfully, you’re damn right,” Tonks said.

“Tonks is correct. Your Grace, you can’t go alone. It isn’t safe,” Kingsley insisted.

"Fine. You will go with me, Kingsley. And you too, Tonks. And you...Lord Voldemort," Harry drawled, leaning forward, pressing his cheek into his palm. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Voldemort to challenge him.

“Is that wise?” Bill asked, slowly, exchanging a glance with Ginny that Harry couldn’t discern.

“If it is his Grace’s will,” Voldemort said, shortly, never looking away from Harry.

“It is,” Harry said. He turned towards the rest of the council. “Ginny, I entrust you and your brother, Charlie, with Hedwig. Keep her safe or I’ll kill you.”

“I’ll protect her with my life,” Ginny promised with a small smile.

Harry nodded. “And Freia will come with me.”

There was a long moment of tense silence.

“Your Grace—”

“It isn’t a discussion,” Harry snapped, silencing Bill immediately. Bill nodded once and leaned back in his chair. Harry took a deep breath. “We have nothing more to discuss. Meeting adjourned.”

The Council stood immediately, all except for Voldemort. Usually, Harry and Voldemort would speak softly in the ancient language afterward. But, this time, Harry stood too. Voldemort tilted his head, curious but, didn't object. Harry held out his hand to Ginny, beckoning her forward.

“Bring me to Fred and George,” Harry requested.

Ginny nodded, looping her arm through Harry’s. Tonks took to his other side and Harry left the room without a glance back. Voldemort would wait for him. Somehow, Harry felt like Voldemort always knew what he was going to do, even if Harry wasn’t sure. Harry hummed as Ginny led the small trio down the steps, and out of the Burrow II.

Harry smiled as they passed some of the refugees, still packing and organizing themselves to begin the trips to Afallon. The children and elderly were scheduled to Portkey to Afallon at daybreak. Lavender Brown wasn’t a member of the Order but, she would be in charge of that along with Percy who would arrive first as Harry’s steward.

“They’re entertaining the kids. Giving them some product. Do you know about their joke products?” Ginny asked.

Harry grimaced. He was _well_ aware of them.

“They got me with a Puking Pastille,” Harry sighed. “But, Madame McGonagall caught them in the act and they were sent to scrub bedpans for a few hours. I vomited all over the Dark Lord.”

Ginny snorted.

Harry flushed in humiliation, remembering the bile that stained Voldemort’s robes. The Dark Lord had been unamused.

“That’s attractive,” Tonks drawled.

Harry’s face stained darker. “Fuck you, Tonks.”

“You care about being attractive to my Uncle?” Tonks taunted and she laughed when Harry ducked his head and moved to walk faster than the pair of them. Tonks tightened her arm in Harry’s. “Come now, Harry. I’m only teasing.”

“Of course he cares,” Ginny snorted.

Harry sighed, shaking his head but did nothing to refute their words. Ginny and Tonks exchanged looks and laughed at his expense.

“We’re looking for Fred and George, remember,” Harry snapped as he tugged them along to the sound of children’s laughter.

Ginny nodded at the Dursleys as they walked past but, Harry did nothing to acknowledge Dudley. He only paused slightly when he saw Petunia before he continued on. Ginny’s brow furrowed but she didn’t question his reaction. They entered the small play area, constructed so that the children wouldn’t be underfoot while packing was completed.

Fred and George were in the middle of them all, laughing as the children clambered all over them. The twins were a stocky sort so children were hanging from every limb, attempting to climb them like trees, and they seemed to revel in it.

“Who wants another Dungbomb?” Fred shouted.

“No one!” Ginny called, already covering her nose.

Fred and George had identical smiles and they peeled themselves away from the children, swaggering over. Fred looped one arm through Tonks' and George threw his arm over Ginny's shoulder, hugging her tight to his side.

“Look who it is, Forge. Ickle little Gin-Gin,” Fred snickered.

“And Tonks and Harry-kins. Look at ‘em all here, Gred,” George teased. Ginny rolled her eyes and shoved playfully at George.

“No. Harry wanted to speak to you,” Ginny laughed. “No more pranks.”

“Ah, Harrykins?” Fred said, sidling up to Harry’s side.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I need to speak with you about your prank products.”

“Ooooh, are we in trouble?” George asked, unable to help the laughter in his eyes. Harry hoped that that laughter never died.

Harry tilted his head. “No. I’ve just noticed your talent and I thought...well. I just have a question. Do you make other kinds of products?” Harry asked.

Fred and George exchanged looks and though there was still humor in their face, they took on an air of seriousness.

“How do you mean, Harry? What kind of products?” Fred asked.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Products of war.”

* * *

**IS**

* * *

“My impressive Miss Gabrielle,” Fenrir said, breathing hard as he looked at his little wife. Gabrielle grinned back at him, breathing just as hard as she leaned on her wooden sword to keep her balance.

“Oh, Fenrir,” Gabrielle sighed with a tiny shake of her head.

“No, my love, you’re incomparable, I swear it,” Fenrir teased.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “You’ve been going easy on me.”

“Aye, perhaps. But, you’re bloody fast, Gabrielle. Bloody fast, indeed,” Fenrir sighed. He fell into his seat and drained his goblet of water in a second. Gabrielle followed after him, doing the same.

She pulled her wand and sighed, grabbing her wand from the table. “ _Aguamenti._ ”

The two goblets were filled with water again and two greedily drank them dry. Gabrielle brushed the silvery blonde hairs from her face. She glanced at her reflection in the ballroom window. With every passing day, she resembled her sister and their mother more and more. Her sixteenth birthday was fast approaching, and Gabrielle had never been _less_ worried.

“I can’t train you anymore,” Fenrir sighed.

Gabrielle squawked, turning to look at him with outrage. “What do you mean? Fenrir, you promised!”

“I know, I know,” Fenrir said, raising his hands in surrender. “But, sweet girl...I can’t hurt you.”

And if that didn’t melt Gabrielle’s heart, it was the words ‘sweet girl’. He had never called her something like that. Gabrielle’s irritation turned to affection and she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He returned it, cupping her face in his big hands rubbing his thumbs against her cheeks. When they pulled apart, Gabrielle’s heart was racing twice as hard as before.

“What will I do then? How will I defend myself?” Gabrielle said.

“Your magic, for one,” Fenrir reminded her. He opened his mouth to continue.

"I've no formal dueling education!" she protested.

Fenrir gave her a pointed look. “Well, if you hadn’t interrupted, I would’ve told you that I’ve asked a friend of mine to come and teach you. Deyanira Argentum.”

Gabrielle’s eyes narrowed.

“Who is she?” she barked, unable to help the uneasiness that turned her stomach.

And the doors to the ballroom crashed open with an air of drama that could only have been planned. Gabrielle turned on her heel and she looked at the woman. And this _must_ be Deyanira Argentum. She looked like the type of woman that would be friends with Fenrir.

The woman slunk into the room, her eyes trained only on Fenrir. She approached and fell in a low bow. She dragged a long wooden staff behind her, like a weight.

“Alpha,” she drawled.

“Deyanira,” Fenrir said, a tinge of warning in his voice.

Gabrielle’s lip curled back. “What kind of ‘cute’ nickname is that? Alpha,” Gabrielle said, snippily.

Fenrir’s amber eyes flashed with something akin to arousal as he looked at his little wife.

“She is my second-in-command more than my friend, sweet girl. My position in the government keeps me incredibly busy and I own...land through the Republic. She is very much like a steward,” Fenrir said and Deyanira Argentum nodded.

“This is the little wife, then. You want me to train her, Alpha?” Deyanira asked.

Still, she hadn’t looked at Gabrielle.

“You can speak to me,” Gabrielle snapped.

Deyanira ignored her. Instead, she looked over at her ‘Alpha’. Gabrielle rolled her eyes so hard, she was afraid she might go blind. Instead, she pulled out her sword and stood, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Train her like I trained you,” Fenrir instructed.

Deyanira nodded and finally turned towards Gabrielle. Her eyes roved over her, disdain twisting her lips. She crooked a single finger at the young Lady Greyback and led her to the center of the ballroom.

Deyanira was a wild woman. Wild in the same way that Fenrir was wild. Her hair was tamed, tied back in a long braid but, her nails were long and jagged and her teeth stained yellow. She walked with a strange sort of grace, keeping her staff tight in her hand. She paced in front of Gabrielle, keeping dark eyes on her at all times. Gabrielle glanced at Fenrir but, Fenrir shook his head, staying tucked in the corner.

“Who are you?” Deyanira asked.

“What?” Gabrielle drawled. She glanced at Fenrir but, Fenrir looked away.

“You. Who walks this chateau as if it was her own, who doesn’t respect Fenrir Greyback. Who are you?” Deyanira asked.

Gabrielle huffed. “His _wife_.”

“Wrong,” Deyanira barked and then she lashed out, her staff smacking Gabrielle in the back of her knee. Gabrielle cried out, falling to the ground immediately as the agony radiated up her thigh and along her thigh.

Gabrielle just caught herself, one hand supporting her body and the other grabbing at the throbbing muscle.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Gabrielle snarled. “What was that?”

And for the first time, Deyanira looked vaguely interested. Loftily, she turned her back on Gabrielle, judging her a non-threat. She glanced over at Fenrir, humming.

“Why does she not know?” Deyanira asked.

“She isn’t one of us. Not yet,” Fenrir responded and Gabrielle was too twisted in irritation to truly question that.

Instead, she launched herself forward, throwing her wooden staff down between Deyanira’s shoulder blades. But, suddenly, Deyanira twisted from in front of her and struck again, slamming her staff into Gabrielle’s side. Gabrielle’s hold on her blade stuttered and it clattered to the ground heavily. She crashed after it, rolling once. She swallowed her agony this time, breathing in heavy hisses as she felt the pain that would inevitably become a bruise.

“Who are you?” Deyanira asked again.

“Gabrielle Greyback!” Gabrielle snapped back.

Deyanira scoffed and threw her staff down. Gabrielle rolled out of the way and tried to jump up. She was knocked back with a fist to her nose. She felt it crack and let out a terrible cry as blood poured from her nostrils. She tasted the bronze of Knuts on her tongue.

“A girl has no name. Who are you?” Deyanira asked.

“I…” And Gabrielle hesitated this time, clutching her bloody broken nose. She swallowed hard. “I have no name. I’m no one.”

Deyanira’s lips curled into a nasty smile. “ _Liar._ ”

And then, she attacked.

* * *

**FAIREST**

* * *

 

She was waiting by the gate when he approached, on horseback. Tall and fair and so reminiscent of childhood that once, Voldemort’s heart would have ached. He no longer had a heart and she was not the little girl that had been destined to rule Albion. She was not the precious little girl that he had taught how to play chess or how to fire a crossbow.

In that moment, Voldemort _hated_.

“You always leave, brother,” Narcissa said, her hair long and free down her back.

She had not worn her hair down in such a way for many years. It was always piled upon her head, like a court lady. Narcissa of old had been a chameleon. He had seen her dressed like a lady, with hair twirled around her head, and he had seen her in armor with a warrior’s braid. Always, she had worn her cosmetics to whichever war she fought in.

She was barefaced now.

“I have always left, Narcissa,” Voldemort said, his voice cold. “I won’t be returning for some time.”

“Where are you going? We are at _war_. You can’t just leave,” Narcissa protested, and her voice cracked, like ice thawing as spring began to dawn.

He had been the one to make her into ice.

_Make your heart cold as ice, my love, and one day, you shall sit on the throne made of bones and the blood of your friend. From porcelain to ivory to steel to diamond, my love._

“I have always left,” Voldemort repeated, his voice hard and full of meaning.

She had always seen the back of him. She hadn't been old enough, the first time that he had been sent on with a sword and an order but, she remembered weeping. Narcissa had always cried. Until she had no more tears.

_My strong girl._

Narcissa had wept after Helena had died. When she laid the porcelain doll to rest, she had wept no more.

“And you let Bella go with you!” Narcissa protested.

"Bella was my twin. Of course, she went with me," Voldemort corrected and he moved his wand in an arch. The gates swung open and he urged his horse forward.

Narcissa stepped in front of the horse, reaching for his horse’s muzzle, hushing it gently. She pet its face and looked up at Voldemort. She looked so young.

“You are going South again. You always go South. Please, let me in. Tell me. Let me help,” Narcissa urged. She took a step closer, dragging her hands down the side of the horse’s throat. “I am no longer the little girl you taught. I am the mother of a King.”

“Aye. You are,” Voldemort hissed, tauntingly.

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed at the mockery that twisted his tone.

“You always underestimated me, Brother, but, I was the one that was most like you and still you never let me in. I was a child but, I am no longer. I am just as accomplished as you. I am the Lady of the Coin. I have ensured the continued prosperity of Albion. I have raised my son, alone. All I ask is that you let me in,” Narcissa said, firmly.

And Voldemort observed his sister for a long time, staring down at her. She looked so young. So young. She had been too young when he had left. She hadn’t understood what the blood smeared across his cheeks meant. She’d only learned once she had seen the heart between his teeth.

“Narcissa,” he said, his voice soft. “I have always left.”

He watched her expression crumble, the way it had when she had seen Helena's body. That was the first time that she realized what exactly her adored sister and brother were capable of. She had blamed Bellatrix first, slamming her small fists into Bellatrix's stomach over and over again as she screamed before she broke down, sobbing into Bellatrix's skirts. Bellatrix had held her while she wept. Voldemort had done nothing but watch until he told her to make her heart like ice.

Bellatrix had _comforted_ her.

And Narcissa had killed her anyway.

Their sister. His sister, the woman that shared a womb with him.

And Voldemort _hated._

Narcissa took a step back, lifting her head. All traces of vulnerability was gone, and she was hard and cold.

“Fine,” she said, coldly. “Leave. Like you always have.”

And so, Voldemort left.

* * *

**OF**

* * *

 

She did not travel looking like herself nor did she use her names.

Sometimes, she was an old crone, gnarled and ugly. Sometimes, she was a beautiful maiden with long, silken brown curls and lavender eyes. Never violet. Her eyes were too recognizable. If Voldemort ever saw her, he would know. He always knew. Bellatrix’s lips curled in rage as she thought about her brother. The man that had _betrayed_ her. The only kin that mattered. The only kin that was hers in blood, bone, and water.

No, it wouldn't do her any good to think about her brother. Thinking of him only led to rage, an uncontrollable frenzy that made her feel animal and mortal in equal parts. She would be above such things. She had a goal. It had been a long time since Bellatrix had had a goal.

She would be controlled and disciplined, in a way she hadn’t been since she and her brother had been too young to have swords in their hands and sent off into the world as if they were soldiers. They had become soldiers, children in a war that they had no business being in.

The bustling streets of Velothi offered her nothing but the scent of rotting fish and reminded her of the emptiness of her stomach.

Wordlessly, she summoned a roll of bread from a passing baker and took a hearty bite of it. It was not much but, it would do until she gathered her wits. As she elbowed her way through the overcrowded streets, she wordlessly Summoned all of her essentials—a new cloak, a bag of coin, another roll of bread and a tiny little burlap bag.

Sliding into an alleyway, she admired the small drawstring bag. It was perfectly suited for her purposes.

“ _Capacious extremis_ ,” she carefully cast.

The Undetectable Extension Charm was tricky, and Bellatrix's talents had always lied with dueling first and foremost. But, it worked effectively with a shower of sparks and Bellatrix tucked away all of her new findings.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you got there?”

Bellatrix looked up, sharply, her lavender eyes flashing dangerously as she eyed the ragged man slumped against the wall. His eyes tracked her heaving breasts, the dip of her waist, the roundness of her hips. Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

“Do not speak to us,” Bellatrix said shortly. She turned on her heel, ready to venture further out as she wrapped her new cloak around her shoulders.

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and jerked her back. Bellatrix stumbled back in surprise.

“There’s only one of ye. And I’mma much bigger than you, pretty thing. Lemme see that little bag you got,” the man said, his rancid breath heavy against the side of her face, his hand pawing at her round breast.

Bellatrix snarled and spun. With the momentum of her turn, her fist connected with the man’s jaw. His head snapped to the side and he stumbled, grabbing at his jaw with a quiet snarl of agony. Bellatrix didn’t give him time to recover.

“ _Mardkhora_ ,” she snarled.

With grim satisfaction, she watched as the spell did its work. The man's arms were torn free first and he screamed. His screams were lost in the bustle of high afternoon in the port city. Blood spurted free, splashing over Bellatrix's jaw. She didn't flinch, her eyes trained on the man. His legs went next, torn up into chunks of flesh and waves of crimson, staining the dirty alley walls with blood. His organs smelled like they were burning as the magic ate away at him, devouring him whole.

Bellatrix had to admire him. Not many survived that long.

“We are Queen Bellatrix of the Albion Empire and you will not touch us,” Bellatrix snarled.

When it was finished, he was only a bloody pulpy mess of a man. Bellatrix turned from the mess, stepping through it. The hem of her dress was soaked in red and she mopped at her face with the inside of her new cloak. Bellatrix waved her wand, glamouring herself again as a young woman, this time with blonde hair, as pale as Pandora’s. She ducked through the streets again.

The scent of the ocean and the rotting fish grew stronger and stronger until it threatened to overwhelm as she walked onto the dock, rounding out the line of people.

"What are you looking to do, lass?" asked a gruff seaman, his mustache bushy and stinking of a sea salt.

“We need safe passage. I offer five galleons,” Bellatrix said, her new voice higher and sweeter than her own. She reached into her small burlap and pulled forth the three coins. The seaman greedily snatched it, stuffing them into his coat.

“Safe passage where?” he demanded.

Bellatrix smiled. “To the Free-States. To Eshnur.”

To the Deathless’ tomb.

* * *

**THEM**

* * *

 

Only the Burrow remained.

The stables had been emptied, the tents were broken down, the overturned gardens holding nothing but weeds. Madame McGonagall and Ron stood at the front of the last group of 50 able men and women. Some were Muggles, more were wizarding kind. They all bowed to Harry as he walked through the small crowd of people towards his General and her protege.

“Your Grace,” Madame McGonagall said, dipping her head in respect.

“Harry,” Ron said with a small smile, slightly rueful and full of resignation. “We’re all set to leave.”

“When will you ride out?” McGonagall asked.

“There’s...I must say goodbye to my parents,” Harry said, his voice soft and he ignored the pity and understand in their eyes. He was like fire, ever-changing and mercurial. He took a step back and looked at the group. “Go to Westeron. Lead in my absence. I will follow. I have sent an owl to Lady Warden Andromeda asking her to find accommodations for 2000 more, at the very least.”

Ron faltered. “2000? Harry, what are you planning?”

Harry smiled softly. He lifted his Portkey that began to glow blue. “Tell Tonks, Kingsley, and the Dark Lord that I will return shortly,” he said, just as he was consumed the blue swirling of the Portkey magic.

When he landed, he stumbled, unused to taking a Portkey when he wasn’t on horseback. Harry righted himself and looked up at the enormous tower. He could hear Fawkes. _Fawkes_. The phoenix’s lament was eternal, forever mourning the loss of Lily Gryffindor. Harry’s heart ached to see Fawkes but, he knew that Voldemort was right. Fawkes wouldn’t return and Harry shouldn’t seek him out.

Instead, he walked towards the mausoleum, pushing open the doors firmly. Harry left them open behind him. They would find him.

He descended into the darkness, knowing the steps though he had only been once before, and when he made it to the bottom, he shivered. It was colder than he remembered. Harry dipped his hand into the cool oil, and set it alight. He watched as the flames raced along the troughs of oil, lighting up the tomb.

There were still ashes and the walls were scorched from the birth of Freia. But, his mother’s statue was unharmed. Slowly, Harry crept forward, entranced by the green eyes that were her eyes. They were the same shade of green as his own eyes.

Still, he moved past the frozen image of his mother, walking around into the small alcove. It was dimmer here but still enough that he could read.

Harry had never gone around the statue of his mother. He had never felt the urge to do so. Now, he wished he never had. He stared at the tombs, at the marble where their names were carved. Etched in stone. Their bones were behind those two slabs of marble. Harry’s heart ached but, he refused to crumble. Harry looked at the words inscribed in the marble between theirs.

"‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death'," Harry read, softly, as he stared at his parents' tombs, their names carved into marble, the words, just between the two marks. He pressed his hands to the squares with their names.

Their bones would lay forever in marble. Murdered before their time by the man that Harry trusted singularly. It was disconcerting. It was terrifying. He was _terrified_.

“I will return, Mother. Father. I swear it,” Harry whispered.

He would return to them. He would see them again. And he knew that he would not be back there until after the war was said and done. Not until he had throne under him and Hogwarts in his grasp. Blood would be spilled before he could see his mother and father. Fire would raze men and the sky would rain ashes. Harry did not look forward to that but, it was coming. He could feel it.

Harry took a step back and slowly straightened his robes. He reached up, straightening his crown and slowly turned. He was unsurprised by the crimson eyes that watched him.

Voldemort always watched him.

“Your Grace,” Voldemort said, holding out his hand towards the door.

Instead, Harry crowded against him, running his hands up Voldemort’s chest, shivering against him. He pressed his face into Voldemort’s shoulder and breathed him in, drowning in his scent. He always smelled clean and _magical_ , for lack of a better word. Voldemort smelled like how it felt to cast magic. He smelled like ice.

“Don’t make me beg, asshole,” Harry whispered.

Voldemort’s wrapped around his arms around his waist, pulling him in tight. Harry clung to him. He allowed it for only a moment. And then, he took a step back and straightened his robes again. Voldemort’s eyes followed him, consumed him, swallowed him alive.

“Are you ready?” the Dark Lord asked.

Harry swallowed hard. “How do I look?”

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Harry nodded once. He lifted his head, wiping any uncertainty from his face.

“Good. Time to go.”

* * *

**ALL?**

* * *

 

Fudge and Madame Umbridge knew he was coming truly before he had appeared. But, they knew him for who he was when they saw him. Umbridge’s lips curled into a sneer. Harry Wildfyre, the Fairest of Them All, lived up to his name.

He rode before the small group, his head held high. He was the picture of arrogance, his plump red lips twisted into a smirk, his pretty jaw set. His hair was wild and he wore a crown of silver and rubies in his head. He looked the picture of a prince but, as breakable as Lily Gryffindor had been. Madame Umbridge hissed at Fudge when she looked at him. His jaw had dropped and he was watched the Fairest with pure lust.

Madame Umbridge surveyed the rest. Cornelius would be no help.

Accompanying the Fairest were three figures. A dark-skinned man that had an enormous covered rolling cart attached to the back of his great horse. A man whose face was shrouded in shadow by the enormity of his hood. And a pink-haired woman whose red cloak billowed behind her, revealing the clothing of a whore.

What _interesting_ company this pretty prince kept.

Harry Wildfyre stopped before them and lifted his chin with narrowed eyes.

“I am Harry Wildfyre,” he declared.

“We...we know who you are,” Cornelius stuttered. “I am Cornelius Fudge, one of the overseers of Crowmere Camp.”

Umbridge cleared her throat, a light ‘hem, hem’ that made Harry wince. Harry watched the two with vague interest. Umbridge looked very much like a toad while Cornelius Fudge was a portly old man that watched him with the same lust as every other man. Well. Umbridge would be the one in control, then.

Harry focussed all of his attention on her.

“I am Madame Dolores Umbridge, overseer of Crowmere Camp. Why have you come? Have you come to burn us too?” Umbridge asked.

Harry’s lips curled into a tight smile. “No. I’ve come to assess the camp. After all, Karnaron is my ancestral land. Anything here belongs to me.”

Umbridge resisted the urge to scoff, only giving a saccharine smile. She nodded once.

“Of course, my Lord,” Umbridge said.

Harry’s smile grew wider. Carefully, he dismounted and looked at the gates of Crowmere Camp. The walls were made of tall columns of wood, bound by iron. A shirtless centaur waited just beyond the gates, his eyes wide with interest. Harry nodded once and turned back to his company.

“Tonks, Kingsley, my Lord. Come,” Harry said. He turned back to Umbridge. “I would ask that my man, Kingsley, takes his horse and our cart inside. We have something of great value.”

Umbridge’s eyes lit up with greed. She nodded once. “Certainly.”

And they entered the abyss, Harry tucked between Umbridge and Fudge, his company as his shadow.

“Madame, tell me about this camp. These creatures are slaves, yes?”

"Soldiers would be apter, my Lord," Fudge said, practically salivating. His hand pressed against the small of Harry's back, daring to pass further down.

A hand snatched at Fudge’s wrist and yanked the older man. Fudge stumbled as the hooded man’s grip tightened.

“My Lord,” Harry warned, gently. The Lord released his grip and took a step back, stepping closer to Tonks. Harry turned back towards Fudge, a small smile on his lips. “I apologize. The three are my personal guard and they are protective.”

Fudge no longer looked amused or pleased by his beauty. “Of course,” he bit out, stepping around and placing Umbridge in the middle of them all.

“Cornelius is right. They are soldiers. They have been trained to stand for a day and a night without food or water. They will stand until they drop. Such is their newfound obedience,” Umbridge said, sharply.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“They may suit my needs,” was all that he said.

Umbridge watched him, curious about his words but she didn’t question him just yet.

“Every day, they drill. Most of the creatures here have previous experience with weapons. The centaurs are most skilled at archery, the giants have been drilled in spear-throwing, the werewolves have gained a resistance to most forms of silver and have gotten control over transforming partially without the help of the moon, and the Veela are trained pleasure slaves though their fire should be useful in battle,” Umbridge said, clinically.

If she noticed the flash in Harry’s eyes, she said nothing.

“This Karnaron Pretender whore will be our deaths,” Fudge hissed into Umbridge’s ear.

Harry imagined that Fudge thought he couldn’t hear him but, Harry was neither deaf nor dumb. His smile widened.

“And you promise their obedience?” Harry asked.

“I shall demonstrate,” Umbridge said and she snapped once. A soldier stepped forward from his post and crossed to the cages along the walls. Harry winced when the creatures inside—indistinguishable in their filth—didn’t even flinch.

An ordinary man was ripped from the cage and thrown forward. Harry frowned as he watched the man’s face. He looked exhausted, his hair ashen, but he was broad and strong. His hair was wild and his eyes were amber. It was all quite familiar.

“A werewolf,” Tonks clarified.

Harry watched as the man was made to kneel before them and Umbridge lifted her pink whip.

“ _Caneo_ ,” she cast and Harry watched in horror as the tails of her whip were turned silver.

Then, she brought it down with a strength that Harry hadn’t expected in her body. Harry flinched as the man’s back arched and he smelled the sizzling of burning flesh. And still, the man still didn’t cry out. He took it, his eyes dull and dark as Umbridge brought the whip down again and again until the man’s back was a gory bubbling mess of blood and pus.

“Stop it,” Harry snarled.

Umbridge looked up, her lips pulled into that condescending smile. Cornelius looked grim but approving.

“Their obedience is unquestionable,” Umbridge said. “Is another demonstration in order?”

Harry looked down at the man. He hadn’t moved from his position though his muscles trembled with pain. He looked like he was trying not to pass out from the agony. The wounds were already beginning to fester and Harry could feel this man’s pain.

“No,” Harry whispered.

“We make certain there is no weakness left in them,” Fudge said firmly.

Harry nodded.

Umbridge turned towards the blonde shirtless centaur that had trailed after them. He seemed the cleanest of the lot. “Go and prepare tea. The young prince must be exhausted after witnessing such a display.”

Harry nodded and turned towards Fudge and Umbridge. “Show me the rest. How many are here?”

“Upwards 2000, not nearly as many as 3000,” Fudge said sharply and they began to tour the rest of the camp.

Harry took in the wretched circumstances. His nose wrinkled at the stench of feces and urine, the stale smell of unwashed bodies and the overwhelming scent of blood. The ones that had been punished hurt the most, some broken and others blinded but, all had suffered terrible things at the hand of these two _things_. Harry hesitated to even call them human as his heart ached. He watched the young centaur, barely older than a foal, his milky eyes staring out blindly but he moved as if he could see Harry.

They had trained even the children. Broken them into little toy soldiers. Harry’s grief turned into fury as Fudge recounted memories of torture as if they were accomplishments. Ah, this blind little centaur could still command a bow better than any even with his blindness. That banshee had been punished and only spoke when she was commanded to.

The broken bodies of defiled Veelas and Harry remembered a time of wandering hands. Hands that burned everywhere they touched until Harry had learned to burn them all back. These Veela had fire too, and he felt a sort of kinship with them.

Many had died, more had survived. Those were the words Umbridge and Fudge repeated over and over again, as if that was something to be _proud_ of.

“I suppose it’s time to speak on why I’m really here,” Harry said, firmly.

Umbridge paused and then turned her eyes to Harry. She had only ever watched Harry, having marked Kingsley, Tonks, and the hooded man as non-threats.

Her _first_ mistake.

"I concur. Let us have tea," Umbridge said sweetly and led him to the open pavilion at the center of Crowmere Camp.

Harry fell back, allowing Umbridge and Fudge to scuttle before him. Tonks stepped to his side, immediately, and the Dark Lord stood at his other side.

“Harry...what do you plan to do?” Tonks whispered, softly.

“You haven’t shared your plans,” Kingsley remarked, further back as he led his horse forward and the enormous cart attached. Harry looked warily at Voldemort but, the Dark Lord remained silent through it all.

Just as he had promised.

“In time,” Harry muttered, hoping that he wouldn’t overplay his hand. “Bring forth the trunk. And keep _her_ quiet, please. At least…”

Harry trailed off and stepped forward, his robes billowing around him as he moved to sit on the offered chair. At least, it was at equal height with the overseers of Crowmere Camp, though Voldemort would see it as an insult. Harry was a King, and thus, should sit higher. But, that was no matter.

“Tea, my Lord?” Umbridge asked as she laid her pink whip across her lap and sipped at her own tea. The blonde centaur took a step forward.

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry said, dismissively. “These creatures are well-trained and disciplined.”

“They are soldiers, meant to be used in the King’s army. In his war against _you_ ,” Umbridge said pointedly and Harry hummed.

"I see. Then, why have you allowed me to come?" Harry countered. Umbridge faltered. "You are afraid of me, though you pretend not to be. Caught between two terrible, feared Kings. One that would slaughter you for your betrayal and the other, a wildfire waiting to strike. You received ashes, did you not?"

“Aye. We know how you burn your enemies,” Fudge bit out, angrily.

Harry smiled. “I do. And so, you let me come here, under false pretenses, once more, afraid of two Kings but, ready to betray the one you’re loyal to. Just to save your skins. Where is your honor?” Harry asked and Tonks snorted, nastily. Harry’s smile widened.

“There is no honor in war,” Umbridge barked.

“Perhaps, not,” Harry murmured. He leaned forward and waited.

Fudge and Umbridge whispered to each other, as if he could not hear. Their soldiers, Draco's soldiers, stared at him as if he could not see. And Harry reveled in their underestimation.

“I want to buy them all,” Harry said, standing before Fudge and Umbridge. They leaned together, whispering and speaking. He heard the words— ‘slut’, ‘whore’, ‘strumpet’. His lips curled into a small smile even as Tonks and Kingsley stiffened at his sides.

Voldemort didn’t flinch, his hood draped over his head, carefully concealing him.

“You cannot afford them,” Umbridge said, tittering over her tea.

“I will return the gold that Pius Thicknesse gave me,” Harry said. He nodded once and Voldemort lifted his wand, floating the trunk towards them and opening it with a flick of his wand.

“Our lost profits,” Fudge squeaked, greedily. He looked over at Umbridge but she hadn’t looked away from Harry once.

“But, it’s not all of it,” Umbridge said, shrewdly. “Where is the rest of it? You think you can buy _2000_ creatures with half a trunk of gold?”

Harry shook his head. He cleared his throat, readying himself to play the trump card.

“No. I have something of more worth. I have a dragon,” Harry said, gesturing to the enormous cage that floated behind him. He gently guided his wand, setting it in front of him. The shrieking grew louder as Freia slammed against the sides of the magically enforced box. His heart ached.

Fudge and Umbridge froze. “I’m sorry?” Fudge whispered.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” Harry whispered, and then, “ _Accio,_ chain.”

The box fell open and Freia’s wings flapped open. The chain shot into his hand and he watched as Freia shrieked, flying into the air, just as far as the chain would allow. Fudge and Umbridge stared with unabashed lust as Freia hissed, spitting angrily at them.

“Your _Grace_ ,” Tonks whispered, frantically. “You will win the war with Freia. Not slave creatures.”

“Reconsider, your Grace,” Kingsley warned.

Harry ignored them. Voldemort’s presence was steady behind him. Harry stared at Umbridge and Fudge whispered to each other, greed twitching in their fingers. They paid Harry no mind. Harry looked at Tonks and Kingsley with irritation.

“You are both here to advise me. But, question me again, and you’ll advise someone else,” Harry hissed from the corner of his mouth before he turned back to Fudge and Umbridge.

Umbridge sipped at her tea one more time and then nodded. “Done. This way.” _Whore._

“I would ask a gift from you. That centaur too. Your personal one,” Harry said, nodding to the shirtless blonde centaur. He looked up wide-eyed at Harry. Harry did not allow himself to smile.

“Done, done,” Fudge babbled before Umbridge could speak. Umbridge snarled at Fudge but, Fudge paid her no mind.

Harry nodded, tugging Freia behind him and she flew after him, his sweet dragon was nearly fully grown. His heart ached to see her in chains. His Freia, who was only a few months old. A child. A babe still. His babe. He hardened his heart and continued outside. He saw them stare at him, wide eyes, trembling before him.

The house elves, goblins, and centaurs looked at him with awe and fear. The Veela clutched each other whispering. The banshees and trolls and the three captured giants. The werewolves and the leprechauns. The Fae. They all whispered. All men and women and creature were the same. Always gossiping.

Harry looked to the centaur that walked by his side.

“What is your name?” Harry asked.

“Firenze, your Grace,” he said.

Harry’s lips twitched. “Good. Your herd rides with me. Does the name Bane mean anything to you?”

“My brother,” Firenze breathed.

“He sent me to find you,” Harry said.

Firenze cleared his throat. “The dragon follows you...there are songs about you. Wyrdfod.”

“That’s what I’ve been called,” Harry said softly as they drew to the middle of the camp and Fudge and Umbridge stopped, looking at him with expectation. Harry cleared his throat as he looked at the bright pink whip in Umbridge’s hand.

“They are untested. It would be wise to blood them early,” Umbridge said, her high voice grating on Harry’s ears. She never looked away from Freia. “Aprulcaster is along the coast of Karnaron. It’s ripe for sacking. Should you take any creature captive, we would gladly accept them from you to make up for lost inventory.”

Harry hummed and stepped forward, the only sound the beating of Freia’s wings and the whispers. Harry held out his hand for the whip and took it from her. Umbridge snatched the chain and Freia shrieked, craning her neck towards Harry. Harry closed his eyes to the soft yellow eyes. His Freia.

“Is it done, then?” Tonks asked, softly.

“He holds the whip. He is their master now,” Fudge said, reaching touch the chain that Umbridge jerked out of his reach. He leaned in to whisper, “The bitch has his army. We must go before the King finds us.”

And slowly, Harry raised his wand, causing all of the cages to creak open. He waited, silently as the creatures filed out, their eyes never straying from him. Harry glanced at Freia and swallowed hard as she hissed and spat, trying to pull closer to Harry. Harry hardened his heart and turned away to look at his newly acquired army.

Harry looked at all of the creatures. They spoke the language that he had been learning. The language that called fire to be his servant. The old Ancient tongue that Voldemort and Bellatrix had been taught by the witch that had made them what they were. He cleared his throat.

“ _Gwith!_ ” he shouted.

Firenze twitched in surprise at his side.

The creatures stood to attention, moving in such a way that they seemed enchanted. They looked at him, whispering that name over and over again. _Wyrdfod._

“ _Pada-tirith_ ,” Harry snarled.

They marched forward, falling into formation. Well. Umbridge had been a formidable master indeed, beating obedience into them all. Breaking them. Harry’s stomach turned and he cleared his throat, clearing his mind.

“ _Dar-tirith_.”

They halted.

Harry nodded. He looked back at Voldemort. Voldemort nodded once. Harry’s lips curled into a smile.

“Tell the whore that his beast won’t come,” Fudge whined to Firenze, forgetting himself. Harry froze, turning to regard the man with chilly green eyes.

Fudge froze, looking up with wild eyes.

“I am not a bitch. Or a slut. Or a whore,” Harry said, coldly. “I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm, Alpha of the Pride, the Wyrdfod, and the Fairest of Them All.”

“Wyrdfod?” Firenze whispered to Harry.

Harry turned back to the creatures.

“ _Gwith!_ _Dag herdir a heryn! Dag Draco tín doeg! Dag fîr na muil!_ ” Harry declared, holding the whip up. The creatures roared in approval. Umbridge’s eyes widened and she shook her head, tugging on the chain.

Freia let out a warning shriek.

“What did you tell them? What did you— _no!_ ” Umbridge shrieked as Tonks spun, pulling her sword, and sunk it into one soldier. Tonks ripped it out with a snarl, wiping the blood across the hem of her crimson cloak.

A Veela woman exploded into the wind, flames twirling around her as she grabbed another soldier, snapping his neck with a fury. Harry’s lips pulled into a smile and he held his hand out to Voldemort. Voldemort stepped forward, pulling away his hood, his eyes glowing bright red. Fudge squeaked.

“My Lord?” Fudge whispered. “A trick to disprove our loyalty?”

“I’m afraid not,” Voldemort whispered. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of Harry’s ear. “Call her to you. We must go.”

“Not yet, “ Harry said. He stepped forward, looking up as Freia tried to jerk away from the magical chains. Harry pulled his wand. Umbridge pulled her wand out.

“ _Cruc—”_

“ _Expelliarmus._ A dragon is not a slave,” Harry whispered as Umbridge’s wand flew into his hand. He turned his jewel eyes onto Freia. She met his gaze with poisonous yellow. “ _Füir.”_

And Freia opened her mouth and let out a roaring plume of flames. Harry took pleasure as Umbridge’s large eyes bugged out as she was enveloped in fire. Harry lifted his chin as Fudge and Umbridge screamed, their skin bubbling, blackening, turning into ash. The smell of burning flesh was acrid in the air and the grass was catching fire. Harry lifted his hand and watched as the fire centered on the two.

Harry turned as the creatures dove into their massacre, fighting and destroying their oppressors. Harry held out his hand and Freia landed next to him with a thud that made the ground tremble. She pressed her large head against his middle, spitting and hissing.

Blood slicked the grass. Iron and steel fell to the ground. Harry would take everything that was left. It would be useful for his troops. Harry watched as they destroyed them all with a smile.

“Well, you blooded them early,” Tonks laughed.

Kingsley looked at Harry with newfound respect. “Well done, your Grace.”

Voldemort hummed. “Well done, indeed.”

Harry walked forward towards Firenze, extending his hand. Firenze bowed his head.

“Wyrdfod. Your Grace,” Firenze whispered.

“Do they speak the common tongue?” Harry asked. He looked at Firenze, apologetically. “I only know enough to command an army. But, I can learn.”

Firenze nodded. “They mistrusted those that spoke the common tongue. But, you have led them against their oppressors. They will follow you. You are Wyrdfod,” Firenze said.

“Good,” Harry murmured. He turned back to the troops that waited for him. “ _Gwith!_ You have been taken from your homes! Put into the chains of slavery. Humiliated and scorned. But, no more! Today, I free you! Any man or woman or creature that wishes to leave, may do so, without fear of harm. I am not here to subjugate you. After all, I was once a slave!”

They whispered to each other. That word. That _word._ Wyrdfod. Wyrdfod.

“But, I come to you! I am Harry Wildfyre! You call me Wyrdfod! The Wyrdfod would ask you to fight in his name, to help free the rest of this country from bondage! Will you ride with me?” he roared, tossing the whip to the ground.

Firenze was the first to step forward. “Wyrdfod! Wyrdfod! Wyrdfod!”

And then, the rest followed. It began as a whisper. Their whispers. And then it rose into a mighty roar that shook the ground and the trees. Freia tossed back her head and let out a shriek.

" _WYRDFOD! WYRDFOD! WYRDFOD_!"

Harry grinned.

Triumph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. Long time no see. Sorry about the update delay. Midterms came and beat the shit out of me. NOT FUN.
> 
> Anyway, here's the next chapter and hopefully, I can get the next chapter out sooner than later. I might update that one early because I'm SOOOOO excited about what's happening in the next chapter. Just really great stuff that I'm sure a lot of readers have been waiting for. Anyway, you know the drill. If you've got questions, comments, and I guess, complaints, just review below!
> 
> HAVE A GREAT DAY/NIGHT/WHATEVER TIME FLOATS YOUR BOAT.
> 
> THANKS FOR READING!


	8. Chapter Eight

 

Weeks of travel had resulted in this.

The settlement at the foot of Westeron was a magnificent thing, The village that had been just outside of the walls of the city had quadrupled in size under Percy and Regulus' watchful eyes. Cottages and greenhouses and shops and schoolhouses had been raised. And the refugees would thrive there, finally able to call somewhere home besides their aging tents and a small piece of land cut from a corner of Karnaron.

“I have to say, his Grace was right about the move,” Lady Warden Andromeda said as they walked through the mass construction.

Ron smirked as Percy's chest puffed up and he looked around, his head swiveling like a peacock as he observed his hard work.

“He’s a good leader,” Ron crowed. “Even if some doubted him.”

Moody grumbled as he watched the raising of what would no doubt be a city. If there was anyone that was less than pleased about the mood, it was Moody. Ron suspected that it was because Harry had proven him wrong—Harry _was_ a King and a damned good one at that. Moody had expected someone broken and Harry was anything but broken.

“How could anyone have any doubt? I didn’t bend the knee because my brother demanded it. I bent the knee because he was good and far more than this wretched empire deserves,” Andromeda said firmly and Regulus looked at his mistress and mother-figure with a raised eyebrow.

“You all really think he can free us from Narcissa and Draco’s reign? You think he can right the wrongs of the Slytherins?” Regulus asked with a quiet doubt.

Ron regarded Regulus Black for a long moment. Regulus was only a few years older, eight years at most. But, he was so much more jaded. He had seemed doubtful from the moment the people had begun to arrive and build up a city that they had deserved after being nomads and refugees for so long.

“I really do,” Ron said. Regulus looked at him with shrewd eyes. “I was raised on stories of Harry. My parents, before they passed, told us that there was a child that would end it all. The death and madness, the famine and destruction. And when I met Harry, maybe, he wasn’t all that I expected. But, he has become the King he was born to be.”

Regulus didn’t seem to quite believe him but, Ron knew that once he met Harry, he would understand. No one really understood until they met Harry. Even Moody had taken time before he had submitted, though he hadn’t done so gracefully. Ron looked over to Madame McGonagall.

“What remains to be done, Percy?” Madame McGonagall asked.

“Barracks, Madame. And a large mess hall for the soldiers. We might also need a bigger stable but, that remains to be seen. I’ve been thinking about assembling a team to breed horses,” Percy said and Regulus hummed in appreciation at the pragmatic idea. He nodded in agreement.

“I’m sure we have a few experts amongst our people. I’ll make sure to help you with that team,” Regulus said and Percy nodded in thanks.

"We must begin finding accommodations for the Western families. But, we cannot rely on their armies until a formal declaration of war," Andromeda said.

Ron frowned, suddenly intrigued by her words. He opened his mouth to ask but was interrupted by a shout.

“Madame! Madame! Moody! We’ve just gotten a letter! From the King!”

The small group looked up. McKinnon and Emmeline Vance were jogging from the Owlery building, an open piece of parchment flapping in McKinnon’s hand. Moody stepped forward but  Andromeda was faster, tearing the letter out of McKinnon’s hand, to the woman’s disgruntlement. Andromeda scanned the letter and her lips curled into a smile. She passed the letter along to McGonagall.

“What does it say?” Ron asked eagerly.

McGonagall hummed. “The King has secured an army of 2000 creatures. It brings our army up to nearly 5000, once we begin training. But, it isn’t enough. Draco has an army of nearly 40,000.”

“40,000 that are three-quarters Muggles, and poorly-trained at that. Dolohov would never spare a moment on them,” Andromeda insisted. “Once Rodolphus is here. We can begin _true_ training. And then, the Alfheimeans. If he can woo Cedric, that’ll give us the numbers that it’s not such a task.”

“It’s still _not_ enough,” Moody insisted.

Andromeda frowned at the man. “What is your idea then?”

“I have none. The King prefers me silent and would disregard my counsel,” Moody said, snappishly. Ron scoffed at the man and shook his head.

"You're only upset that he made the Dark Lord his Lord Chancellor," Ron said and he no longer flinched when Moody growled at him. He could feel McGonagall's approval even though he didn't turn to look for it. He stood straighter.

Andromeda shook her head as she looked out past the city. She had long begun preparations as the King had asked but, she hadn’t truly believed he’d bring an army of such size. There was work to be done. “My brother has tricks up his sleeve. Do not worry, Madame. We _will_ have the numbers. I’m sure of it.”

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Harry looked out over his army of 2000 with soft eyes. They seemed brighter than when he found them. They broke their fasts over warm fires and mead and bread that they had taken from the camp before their departure. A wild owl was flying towards the centaur herds, telling them of the conquering of Crowmere Camp, shouting the arrival of the Wyrdfod. The centaur herds would meet them at Westeron, and then it would truly begin.

“You’ve done the impossible, Harry,” Tonks said, congratulatory.

Harry’s lips curled into a smile. “Implausible. Not impossible.”

“No, the word is impossible,” Kingsley corrected. Harry looked at his Infantry Commander. “You have done many impossible things, your Grace. Brought dragons back to the world of the living. Freed 2000 slaves by yourself. And now, you will take back Albion. I’m sure of it, now.”

“Did you have doubts before?” Harry asked with amusement and he was surprised when Kingsley nodded, looking out over the uplifted creatures.

"I did. It's hard not to doubt when you've lived under subjugation for so many years," Kingsley sighed and Harry hummed, tilting his head.

“I suppose that’s true. I had doubts as to whether I’d ever escape my aunt and uncle,” Harry said, softly. He shook his head, pushing away terribly sad thoughts and memories. “Never mind that all. Good night. It’s been a long day.

He slipped away from Tonks and Kingsley, moving closer to the mouth of his tent. He looked over his shoulder at the two that stared back at him with raised eyebrows. He turned back to Freia, who was curled up on the side of his tent, finally free of the chains. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the hot scales of her neck. She breathed out lazily and purred softly.

"Good night, my love," he murmured before he slipped between crimson folds of fabric. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the Dark Lord lounging on his chaise, a book in hand. "Are you attempting to sleep in here, my Lord?"

“I like those words coming out of your mouth. ‘My Lord’,” Voldemort drawled without looking up from his book. He drew his quill across the page in a straight line and shut the small leather notebook with a resoundingly quiet thud. “Am I your Lord, Harry?”

“No. But, I am your King. So, tell your King why you’re in his tent,” Harry said with amusement, his eyes bright as he moved closer to the chaise and sat down on the other side of it, curling his legs underneath him.

“Marking off plans that have been completed. Your numbers go up nearly 5000,” Voldemort hummed.

“Not enough. How much of the Alfheimean army do I need?” Harry asked.

“Only a quarter. Doesn’t give you the numbers but you will be much closer to outmatching them. Alfheimeans are trained from birth to kill. You won’t have a better army. Besides your creatures,” Voldemort said and Harry shook his head.

“They aren’t my creatures. I am no one’s Master,” Harry said. He ignored Voldemort rolled his eyes and leaned back, closing his eyes briefly. “Tell me about Afallon. About Westeron. Tell me things that aren’t books.”

Voldemort looked at Harry for a long moment before he sighed.

“Afallon is the biggest piece of the continent. Only accessible by the bridge that we currently are only a day or so away from. It is beautiful. White cliffs and green grass. Plentiful. It’s where all the grains and produce from most of the continent come from. The Narrow Sea is full of mermaids and grindylows and kelpies. I’ve met some of them,” Voldemort narrated, softly.

“Something _not_ in books,” Harry demanded, glowering at Voldemort. Voldemort snorted in amusement and nodded.

“Aye, I was getting there. Impatient brat,” Voldemort snorted. Harry reached forward to pinch the man’s inner thigh but a sharp jolt was his only reaction. Harry grinned. Voldemort smacked the younger man’s hand away. “Your mother was born in Westeron.”

Harry turned towards Voldemort and leaned forward. "Was she really? I thought she would've been born in Godric's Hollow."

“That was where she was blessed with her name but, no, she was born in Westeron. There was a conflict that Helga had in Afallon. With supporters of the Tabooed. Even now, sometimes, they form a small rebellion. An infestation that must be squashed,” Voldemort said, and Harry frowned. It sounded like something Voldemort had repeated to himself many times over. Before he could question it, Voldemort continued. “She was born in Westeron to her mother, who insisted upon being in the frontlines until the very end.”

“My grandmother must have been a _fearsome_ woman,” Harry murmured.

Voldemort nodded. “I suppose she was. She fought in the battled against the Tabooed, led the infantry.”

“So, my mother is _Afallonian_ ,” Harry whispered. “It’s fitting then that I will take Afallon after taking back my ancestral home. I will conquer them all. Afallon, then Karnaron. Then Essetir, then Orcate. Until they are surrounded on all sides.”

Voldemort observed the young man, with his bright green eyes, demanding and proud. This man would be Emperor of the Albion Empire. He would sit on the Gilded Throne.

The Dark Lord would be _sure_ of it.

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

She stomped off of the ship, fanning herself against the tropical heat. It was hot, hotter than even Karnaron and it made Bellatrix’s lips curl into a sneer. How anyone could live in the United City-States was beyond her. Bellatrix ignored the stares that she got as walked onto one of the many docks of Eshnur and she took in the scent of salt. It would be the only time she smelled something close to fresh air. Soon, she’d only smell traitors and Mudbloods.

“Hello, beau—”

“Begone,” Bellatrix snarled, nastily as she pushed through the crowds, pushing her damp hair from her face.

So, this was Salem. The place that they burned Pandora. _Pandora._

Bellatrix closed her eyes and tilted her head back, letting the world happen around her. She had not thought about Pandora is a long time. She was at the place that they had killed her mentor. The only person that she had called friend, besides Tom. The only person that hadn’t betrayed her, unlike her _blood_.

“They will pay Pandora. We promise,” Bellatrix breathed into the air.

She would slaughter them all but, only after it was done. Only after she found the Deathless.

Bellatrix pushed through the crowds, pulling her hood over her hood. The Muggles were so ignorant, smiling and laughing as if they had no idea that away from this isolationist prison that the world was churning. They had no idea of the war that she would bring to their doorstep. They had no idea that just a ship away was a civil war unlike any the world had ever seen.

And that’s what it would be.

Narcissa Godkiller would meet the Fairest, and she would experience everything that Bellatrix had in that moment that she had gotten a glimpse of him. Elation. Awe. Rage. Jealousy.

Terror.

 _Beauty is terror,_ Pandora had told them, once upon a time. _Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it._

Bellatrix's lips curled into a large smile. Pandora had known so much. After all, she had lived so very long. She had lived long enough to meet the Deathless and to watch two of them die. She had witnessed the births of nations and the deaths of them too. But, Pandora hadn't known everything. She couldn't have.

She hadn’t realized that beauty was most terrifying when something was beautiful _forever._

* * *

**ON**

* * *

 

Cedric stood on the poop deck of his ship, overlooking the vast oceans. The sea was rather calm but, he knew not trust it once they were closer to the shores of Afallon, especially Westeron. The Narrow Sea and the oceans surrounding the West of Albion were not known for being kind. Cedric leaned on the railing of the ship and hummed. He wondered what Albion would be like. His father had never been had told him stories. Amelia had told him stories.

He remembered the day that she told him that she had once lost her white robes. To the Dark Lord.

Cedric had heard that the man was handsome, terribly so. And that he hadn’t aged a day in decades, forever young. Only the most heinous of magic could accomplish such a thing.

“What bothers you, my love?”

Cedric smiled as arms wrapped around his middle and he felt Cho’s cheek press between his shoulder blades. He turned in her arms and she crushed herself to his chest. Cedric hugged her back, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“I am only...wary of what is to come. This isn’t something we can go into blind,” Cedric warned and Cho nodded humming.

"I know. The Dark Lord Voldemort and the Southern King Harry Wildfyre.  And if we're to meet them at Westeron, the Lady Warden Andromeda will be in on it too. Two Slytherins and a Gryffindor," Cho sighed, shaking her head. She looked up at him, her brown eyes wide. "You know, when we talked about them at home, it was almost as if they were myth. They couldn't be real. Monsters were for stories and yet, here we are."

“Here we are. Off to meet gods or monsters. I’m not sure which,” Cedric allowed. They stood in silence, ruminating in their nerves and displeasure. Cedric was relieved when he heard the sound of steel crashing against steel and bright laughter.

He looked down at the weather deck and watched as Susan Bones threw herself across, swinging down two wickedly curved knives, catching Ernie’s sword and twisted, disarming him. She swung around, holding both knives to his neck and Ernie sighed, shaking his head.

“Fine. I yield. Again. How about hand-to-hand now?” Ernie demanded.

Susan snorted, tossing her head back, her ivory robes billowing around her. “You couldn’t beat me in that either,” she teased.

"You forget who you're talking to Ern," Anthony said as he looked up from where he and Dean were sharpening blades. Dean smirked but didn't say anything, focusing on the task at hand. "She's been trained by the Madame-General since birth. Of course, you can't beat her. I doubt even Cedric could beat her."

“Is that a challenge?” Cedric called with a grin, already twitching from the excitement. It was rare that Susan even _wanted_ to duel with him, too afraid to ‘hurt’ him.

But, Susan seemed relaxed today. She shrugged, her eyes alight with mischief. “Well, if the Prince would like to fight one of his Adored, I’m happy to oblige. Hannah’s here to heal you,” Susan laughed and Cedric rolled his eyes as he pulled away from Cho, ignoring her fluttering hands.

“I’ll remind you, Susan, I’ve got ivory robes too,” Cedric smirked.

“Don’t worry, love. Kick his ass,” Hannah called as she steered the ship and Susan blew her a kiss before she turned back to Cedric, crooking a single finger.

Cedric practically threw himself down the stairs. Cho was on his heels, grabbing at his hands.

“Please...please don’t fight,” she begged, quietly. “I don’t want you...don’t fight for _sport_.”

“Fight for sport is in my blood, my love,” Cedric said, though unapologetically. He walked straight up to Susa and she cracked her neck, shrugging off her outer robe and falling into a low stance, slowly hilting one knife and pulling her wand. “Magic and steel?”

“Always.”

This was the distraction that Cedric had needed, had practically begged for. They were fast approaching Westeron—they would be there within a month and he was terrified of what he would find. He was terrified that he was placing his Adored Ones and _Cho_ in danger, all over a threat that Cedric wasn’t sure was serious. But, if it was serious, this would be a perfect time to reestablish relations with Albion, in case this Harry Wildfyre _won_.

But, there were so many factors, and Cedric was no king. He was a Prince, as his father before him, and he wished his father was there now. He wished his father had seen him beautiful and whole, instead of dying while Cedric had still been a beast. But, those thoughts didn't matter now.

Only the growl building in his throat, and the desperation for violence thrumming in his blood.

And Cedric pulled his wand and threw out his hand. With a single flick, he Summoned his blade to his hand and he grinned. “Alright. Someone set up wards. _Reducto!_ ”

* * *

 

**THE WALL**

* * *

 

Blood and sweat. Bones cracked. Noses broken. Healed. Repeat.

Those were Gabrielle’s days.

She rose with the sun and when she emerged after a light breakfast meal, she walked into the ballroom, and Deyanira waited there. Some mornings, Fenrir was already gone, back to the city to work. Others, he watched. Sometimes, when Gabrielle’s bones were broken, he would leave, unable to bear her screams of agony.

Gabrielle didn’t scream anymore. Instead, she took it.

They didn’t fuck anymore either. At least, not as often and not with the lights on. He didn’t like to see her bruises, black marks that mottled her arms, her belly, her legs, her back. She had once rubbed bruise salve but, now, she liked the way they sometimes scarred her muscled arms.

The scars reminded her that she was powerful.

The scorch marks from spells that flew too close meant that she was fast enough to avoid them. The scars on her skin showed that she was not submissive and beautiful. They reminded her that even though she couldn’t call fire or wind, like full-blood Veelas, she would be able to defend herself against anyone that came to fight her.

But, this morning, Deyanira did not wait at the center of the room, staff in hand. She sat where Fenrir usually would sit. Fenrir waited in the corner of the ballroom, unmoving, his face strangely cold. Gabrielle didn't mind. She had no eyes for him. There was a time and place for Fenrir when they would curl against each other and siphon each other's warmth, and talk about Albion and the books they were reading and the maps that Gabrielle or Fenrir had found in the deep recesses of the library.

This time belonged to Deyanira and so, all of Gabrielle’s attention was commanded by her.

“A girl is nearly late,” Deyanira sighed.

“A girl is _never_ late," Gabrielle barked with all bite and Deyanira's lips curled into one of her strange smiles that were both unforgiving yet amused.

“Is a girl ready to play a game?” Deyanira asked.

Gabrielle slowly sat down across from Deyanira, her eyes caught on the goblet that waited in front of her place. Deyanira snapped her fingers, grabbing her attention. Gabrielle looked up, annoyed, and was thoroughly unprepared for the punch in the face. Gabrielle's head slammed back against the back of her chain and she groaned at the crack.

“Fuck you,” Gabrielle snarled, clutching at her bleeding nose. She slowly cracked her nose into place and pulled forth her wand. “ _Episkey._ ”

Her nose snapped back into place but the damage was done. Blood stained the collar of her tunic. But, she ignored it, turning to stare back at Deyanira.

“You could have dodged that. Answer my question. Is a girl ready to play a game?” Deyanira snarled and Gabrielle scoffed, nastily.

“All we do is play games.”

“Good. Who are you?” Deyanira demanded and Gabrielle’s emotions slipped away, falling away from her as she hastily compartmentalized and leaned forward, her eyes stuck on Deyanira.

“No one. Who are you?” she asked.

And Deyanira drew back as if surprised. It was the first time that Gabrielle had asked her it back, in the exact same way as she.

“Part of one,” Deyanira answered. Gabrielle kept her eyes blank against the surprising question. “You will lose the game. A girl is ready to play.”

Slowly, she pushed the goblet forward again and Gabrielle didn’t hesitate. She took up and swallowed it in one go. And then, the world turned and filled with fog, and Gabrielle’s stomach felt heavy. The agony was slow but it came, as all pain eventually did. It rolled through her body, settling in her cheeks, behind her eyes and she twisted and twitched, and vomit spewed from her body across the table.

The acrid scent of bile filled her nose as her eyes went dark.

“What did you do to me? _What_ did you _do_ to me?” she shrieked as she clutched at her eyes.

Her _unseeing_ eyes.

“A girl is ready to play,” Deyanira said.

"FENRIR! FENRIR! HELP ME!" Gabrielle begged and wept, and she threw herself out of her chair, away from the bile, away from Deyanira and stumbled in the general direction of her husband. She twisted and turned as suddenly a heavy weight collided with her back.

She fell forward, cracking her head against the marble ground, and she tried to scramble away as she felt footsteps approach.

“Enough, Nira,” Fenrir barked.

And then, he was kneeling in front of Gabrielle, wiping the bile from her mouth, holding her close.

"What did you let her give me? What did you let her do to me?" Gabrielle rasped in her ear, her noxious breath filling his nose and still, he held her close. She let out a wretched sob, her fingers raking across his chest, clinging to her.

“You want to be able to fight, Miss Gabrielle?” Fenrir murmured, his voice quiet. “Then, you will learn.”

“I wanted to be able to _defend_ myself,” Gabrielle sobbed, snot bubbling from her nose.

“You wanted to learn how to win,” Fenrir corrected her, so gentle as he passed a handkerchief over her nose and his arms tightened around her as Gabrielle curled into his lap, trembling with terror.

“Tell her to give me back my sight! Tell her!” Gabrielle snarled.

“I thought a girl was ready to play.” Deyanira’s mocking voice hovered over her like a specter and Gabrielle twisted in Fenrir’s arms, in the direction that she thought that wicked woman waited for her. She hissed.

“I will _kill_ you,” Gabrielle barked.

“How can you? You can’t even see,” Deyanira said and for the first time, she laughed, terrible and mocking and once, it would have made Gabrielle feel small.

Instead, she felt _rage._

“And when I can, I will cut your head from your shoulders, you fucking cunt,” Gabrielle hissed. She crawled from Fenrir’s lab and jumped up, raising her wand in Deyanira’s direction. She stumbled forward. “ _Avada Kedavra._ ”

She felt the pulse of magic and she heard it collide with the wall with a terrible crash. But, she still heard Deyanira, terrible and mocking. A staff connected with Gabrielle’s chin, knocking her to her side, and she stumbled.

“What’s your name?” Deyanira whispered in her ear and Gabrielle spun around, whipping a curse in her direction, a nameless one from a book that would tear Deyanira’s entrails from her nose.

“ _No one_ ,” Gabrielle barked.

“I don’t believe that. You don’t believe that,” Deyanira said.

And then, Gabrielle was hit in the stomach with a foot, knocking her back and another hit across her shoulder blades, sending her to knees. Gabrielle screamed, in rage and agony, she didn’t know. She could no longer separate the two.

“A girl has no name,”Gabrielle said between clenched teeth and she could taste the copper of blood on her tongue. She waited for Fenrir to stop this but, Fenrir never stopped it. She couldn’t wait for Fenrir to stop anyone because Fleur was right.

Gabrielle was on her _own_. Gabrielle was _strong._

“If a girl says her name, a woman will let her have her eyes back,” Deyanira said and Gabrielle didn’t need to reach up to know that Deyanira stood right in front of her. Deyanira always burned hot and Gabrielle could _feel_ her.

“A girl has no name. I am _no one_ ,” Gabrielle whispered.

And Gabrielle didn’t need to see to know that Deyanira was smiling.

“Do you know why a woman takes your eyes?” Deyanira asked.

Gabrielle knew she expected an answer. “No,” she said with gritted teeth.

“You will learn to hear and see with your tongue. A woman has made you an animal. And only when the moon is your only friend, will you _truly_ be no one.”

* * *

**WHO**

* * *

“It’s time.”

Rowena looked up from her tome and frowned at the man who stood before her. It wasn't dawn yet and Salazar rarely rose before the sun was high in the sky. Even when they were younger, he so rarely had risen so early. And yet this morning, something had happened.

It was _time_.

“The sword, then,” Rowena said as she slowly closed her book, a book that she had read a thousand times over. Her eyes narrowed as she attempted to make out the shape of Salazar as he lingered in the hallway.

"Yes. The Sword. He's ready. It burned. Hotter than even when Godric took it up. This Prince...he is more than just the rightful Heir. So much more," Salazar said.

And Rowena stopped herself from gasping when he stepped into the flickering lights from the fireplace. Salazar was dressed in battles robes. Leather and basilisk skin formed the poison green armor. It was the armor that he had once battle the Tabooed in. The armor that he had slain Ambrose in. And on his waist was the Sword of Gryffindor, forged in Godric's fire, used to slay Medraut of Orkney.

Salazar did not resemble the tired, old man that Rowena had come to know.

He looked like the great king he had once been.

“How are you so sure?” Rowena asked. She wasn’t sure about anything anymore and she pressed her book to the side table, slowing standing to her feet.

"Rowena, the gnomes whisper at night. The air breathes the name ‘Wyrdfod'," Salazar said, firmly.

Rowena knew the term, academically. ‘Wyrdfod’. But, she only knew that it spoke of a savior. Someone ‘Fateborn’. Otherwise, creatures were notoriously private about it all. But, if it was true. Then, Lily’s son was more than just the Heir.

“What is his name?” Rowena murmured.

“They whisper ‘Wyrdfod’. ‘Alpha of the Pride’. ‘The Breaker of Chains’. ‘Dragon-Tamer’. But, he calls himself, Harry Wildfyre.”

Rowena froze.

“A...he has a dragon?” she murmured.

Salazar hummed. “I do not know. But, we must go to him. It is what’s right,” he said, firmly and Rowena nodded, reaching for her wand. The former Queen walked past him in the hallway, the back of their hands brushing against each other.

She stepped into her room and ignored her unmade bed. Instead, she walked to the large wardrobe that she had kept locked for the past seventeen years. Rowena pulled out her wand, ash and a raven feather core, and she pointed it at the heavy padlock that held the doors shut.

“ _Alohomora_.”

The heavy lock fell from the wardrobe with a noisy thud that nearly made her flinch. The doors slowly creaked open to reveal the heavy bronze and navy battle robes and the two painted metal fans that hung at each shoulder. Rowena grabbed the fans from their perches, sliding her wand into the deepest groove. Rowena waved her fans, in the slowest motion and she watched as the robes swirled out of the wardrobe and melted over her body.

Her dark blue skirts swirled around her bare feet and she Conjured up a pair of boots. Rowena watched herself in her dusty mirror. If she squinted, she looked as she had in her prime.

Beautiful. Powerful.

There was beauty in age and living such a long life, painful as it had been. There was power in age as well. Dumbledore, their advisor, had been so very old and one of the most powerful wizards Rowena had ever known. Even now, Rowena mourned for him.

Rowena set her fans down and began to pull back her dark, silver-streaked hair, twisting it into a braid. She continued and when it fell to her waist, she wrapped it in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Quickly, she folded her fans and stowed them up her leather sleeves.

The Mad Queen was dead. The Dark Lord was gallivanting across the continent, clearly up to something. But, Rowena and Salazar would find him. They would find the prince before it was too late. Rowena left her room for the last time and she walked up to Salazar, a serious look on her face.

A rare smile wrinkled his lined face.

“What?” she barked.

"You look as you did more than half a century ago when you rode into battle for Essetir. Powerful. Beautiful. Infinite. The way you slaughtered Orcate," Salazar murmured and Rowena knew that he was reminiscing about simpler times.

Rowena nearly scoffed. The _Tabooed_ were simpler times, indeed. She gestured towards the door with a tilt of her head and gave a half-smile.

“We go by foot. Where to, Sal?”

She hadn’t called him that since Essetir.

“To the West.”

* * *

**IS**

* * *

 

“Your brother is on his way to Westeron as we speak. He is a day away from the Western Bridge. He’ll be at Westeron only days after us,” Harry said as he walked through the crowd of young children. The creature children—young Veelas, banshees, centaurs, and Fae—all rushed up to him, babbling in the ancient language, attempting to grab his attention.

Harry laughed as the reached out to touch him, brushing their fingers against any open skin. He reached back to them, leaning down and scooping up one Veela child with brilliant pink eyes and silvery hair that reminded him of Teddy in attitude. Harry looked over his shoulder at Tonks who looked rather soft. She was thinking about her child too, then.

"I look forward to joining my herd again. I miss my brother," Firenze admitted. Harry looked at him again. He was lacking in scars, unlike some of the other creatures but, Harry knew grief and relief when he saw it.

He had felt both in equal measure too.

“Wyrdfod, Wyrdfod,” the child in his arms called, tugging on one of his curls. The Veela child couldn’t have been older than five years.

“Yes?” Harry murmured in silver hair.

“Where is the...the... _lhûg?_ ” the child asked.

Harry's lips curled into a smile. "The dragon? Oh, sweet child, Freia is sleeping. You may see her later. And she is _rovalug._ With wings. She _flies_ ," Harry said, brushing his fingers over the child's belly. The children around him squealed and one centaur child, a boy, grabbed his free hand and tugged.

“A _rovalug_. Like in the song!” he shouted, almost accusatory.

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion and he glanced over at Tonks. The older woman was looking away. Harry’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. The other children squealed and began babbling to each other in the common tongue and the ancient language, overlapping and going in and out so fast that Harry could barely understand.

“What song?” Harry asked, calmly.

“You’re the Wyrdfod! You should know your song.”

“Maybe he’s not the Wyrdfod. Maybe, he _lied._ ”

Firenze’s lips curled into a small smile. “Children. King Harry is the Wyrdfod. I promise you. The stars do not lie.”

This seemed to calm the frantic children and the Veela child in Harry’s arms squirmed so that they could turn their head towards Firenze.

“Sing for us, please, Firenze? Please,” the Veela child pleaded.

Harry smirked as he sat down in the dirt, settling the child in his lap and the other children gathered around him, tucking close to his side. “Yes, Firenze. Sing for us please.”

Firenze’s lips twitched into a smile and he slowly settled, his four legs folding under him.

“Fine. Fine. I shall sing,” Firenze murmured.

Harry leaned forward, his eyes concentrated on the blond centaur as he waited.

“ _Fanuilos heryn aglar_

_Aran athar haradren-dôr,_

_Calad ammen i reniar_

_Mi ‘aladhremmin ennorath!”_

Harry froze at the words as he slowly translated them through his head.

_Snow White! Snow White! O Lord clear!_

_King beyond the Southern Land_

_O Light to us that wander there_

_Amid the world of woven trees!_

The child in Harry’s lap clapped their hands together in excitement. All of their children hung off the words, some mouthing it as if they had heard it a thousand times over, and it _terrified_ Harry. Firenze’s eyes had never left his.

“ _A Wyrdfod Raw_

_I chîn a thûl lin míriel_

_Fanuilos le linnathon_

_Ne ndor haer thar i aearon,”_ Firenze purred, his voice smooth and long and rounded with his accent. Harry frowned as some of the words began to sound even _older_.

He couldn't be sure what ‘Wyrdfod Raw' meant but it sounded fantastical as if it couldn't be translated into the common tongue. The rest was easy enough. Words that the Dark Lord had deemed appropriate for him to learn.

_Clear are thy eyes and bright is breath_

_Snow White! Snow White! We sing to thee_

_In a Far land beyond the sea._

And then another voice joined in with Firenze, flowing in a terribly beautiful harmony.

“ _A elin na gaim eglerib_

_Ned în ben-anor trerennin_

_Si silivrin ne pherth ‘waewib_

_Cenim rovalug dosta dram,_ ” Tonks and Firenze sang, their voices twisted together so well that Harry couldn’t tell where Tonks’ voice ended and where Firenze’s voice began. Firenze was watching her now, with wide delighted eyes and Tonks closed her eyes.

Harry winced at the mention of his ‘dragon’s burning blow’ and he gave up trying to translate as the Veela child in his lap began to hum the words, entranced with it all just as he was.

“ _A Wyrdfod Raw_

_Men echenim sí cordof derthiel_

_Ne chaered hen nu ‘aladhath_

_Ngilith or haradren-dôr._ ”

As soon as the song came to an end, the children burst into applause and the Veela child slipped from Harry’s lap, bored with him already. Harry was frozen and he frowned at Firenze.

“Children, to your parents. Wyrdfod must speak to Firenze,” Tonks prompted.

The children all made sounds of sorrow but they did as Tonks commanded, tottering off in a little pack. They were so resilient, Harry noted. There were few children at Crowmere Camp. But, the few that had been there had endured, refusing to break under human hands. Harry wished could be only as half as strong as them.

“Tell me. What does that... _word_ really mean?” Harry demanded.

Firenze regarded him for a long moment. “It is not easily translated. Not at all,” Firenze said. “But, in our…religion, we have those called _Er-amarthan._ The Fated Ones. They are the ones that receive true names. Like Andromeda Empath. Andromeda _Cened_. Narcissa Godkiller. Narcissa _Dag-eru_. Harry Wildfyre. But, you...you are the Wyrdfod. Fateborn.”

“How is that different from the others that have been born to fate?” Harry demanded and Firenze looked at him for a long time and cleared his throat.

“The Wyrdfod is a legend. The King, fair and beautiful, born out of violence and blood. A lion with flames at its claws that will meet the Snake. The Wyrdfod frees us from bondage and leads us to peace through war. _You_ are the Wyrdfod,” Firenze said and he looked over at Tonks, his eyes alight with some sort of mischief that Harry didn’t understand. “You didn’t tell him?”

“You didn’t tell me,” Harry snapped.

Tonks cleared her throat. “Harry...my dear friend. There’s a hell of a lot that I don’t tell you. And I feel regret over most of it. But, not this,” Tonks admitted.

“Why?” Harry demanded.

“Because,” Tonks snapped. “You had to _earn_ this.”

Harry paused and looked at Tonks with quiet eyes.

“Explain,” Harry said, his voice softer this time and Tonks lifted her head and take a deep breath.

"Your titles are yours by blood. But, this...these people are a nation within a nation. Lost and betrayed for centuries. You had to _earn_ the title of Wyrdfod. And you have. Because you are good and kind and noble and strong," Tonks said and Firenze nodded in agreement.

The words weighed heavy on Harry’s shoulders. More condemnation than praise, almost. And then Harry _did_ feel hands on his shoulder and a familiar weight against his back. Harry tipped his head back against the man’s shoulder. Voldemort kneeled behind him, his hands settled on Harry’s shoulders.

“You’ve called him Wyrdfod. He is Wyrdfod, then?” Voldemort asked.

“Of course he is,” Tonks said, scornfully. “Who else would?”

Harry looked at Firenze again but, the centaur was watching Voldemort carefully. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed.

“What?” the Dark Lord demanded.

“I’ve never seen _Er-amarthan_ with as many names as the two of you. He, we may simply call _Wyrdfod_ and be done with it. But, you...âr-tan, rista-gwaedh, Daghai, Dagâr,” Firenze drawled.

And Voldemort was on his feet, his wand pulled.

“Uncle—” Tonks started.

“I am no _Kinslayer_ ,” Voldemort hissed.

Firenze’s lips curled into a smile. “The stars do not lie, my Lord. The blood your kin will dry beneath your fingernails. It is written.”

Harry stood up immediately, grabbing for Voldemort’s hand. “Please, don’t—”

Voldemort tore his hands away and shook his head, stowing his wand away. He turned to Tonks and cleared his throat. “We need to drill the troops. We need to know how much they’re currently capable of besides enduring torture.”

“Aye,” Tonks said, firmly. She stood and walked past Harry, squeezing his shoulder once before she took off at Voldemort’s side.

Harry turned on Firenze. “Why...why did you do that?” he demanded.

“I didn’t mean to upset your lover, Wyrdfod,” Firenze said, ignoring Harry’s embarrassed sputtering. “I don’t mean to upset him, I swear.”

Harry knew that Firenze was telling the truth. He swallowed hard and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What did you...what did you call him?”

Firenze hummed. “Kingmaker. Oathbreaker. Kinslayer. Kingslayer,” Firenze said and Harry blanched. Firenze shook his head. “Oh, Wyrdfod, you are not the only one of a thousand names, all of which are _true._ ”

* * *

**FAIREST**

* * *

 

“I’m leaving. And I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

Narcissa looked up from her scales. Slowly, she scooped the gold from the plates and slid it back into one of the large velvet sacks on her desk. Narcissa’s lips curled into a slow smile and she leaned back in her chair, her eyebrow raised as she regarded her husband.

“And you’ve come for a last fuck, my love?” Narcissa teased and she slowly stood, adjusted the neckline of her gown, showing off the soft pale swell of her breasts. Lucius didn’t smile.

“No. I’m leaving _you_ ,” Lucius whispered.

Narcissa’s smile slid away.

There was a long moment of silence between them when they only stared at each other. Narcissa's face went through evolutions, calm to rage to terror back to rage again. Her rage had never burned hot. It was cold.

“I’m your lady wife. We’ve been married for longer than two decades, Lucius Malfoy,” she said, like that mattered. Like that had ever mattered to her. “My brother set up our engagement. You are my _husband._ ”

“My Lord has asked my presence somewhere else. And I don’t _want_ you anymore. Not after what you’ve become,” Lucius said sharply. “Not after what you’ve made my son into.”

“Fuck you!” Narcissa snarled and Lucius winced at that. He didn’t think he’d ever heard her use that word. “I loved you, Lucius Malfoy. I begged my brother to let you marry me. And you want to...you want to throw me _away?_ ”

Lucius closed his eyes for a long moment, breathing deep through his nose. When he opened his eyes again, Narcissa was standing, trembling with the repression of her fury.

“You’re a crazy cunt that made my boy a monster,” Lucius snapped.

Narcissa scoffed. “I’m the _cunt_ you married. The only time you liked yourself was when you were trying to be someone this _cunt_ might like. I’m not letting you go. I’m that cunt. I’ve killed for you. I’ve done terrible things for all of us!”

And the way she said it made it seem like it had all been for them and not for herself. As if it weren’t all for the broken little girl that Lucius hadn’t known he was marrying—the broken little girl hiding, terrified, in Narcissa’s mind.

“All we’ve ever done is hurt each other and pretend that we weren’t,” Lucius whispered.

“That’s _marriage_.”

Lucius paused and his eyes flashed.

“I pledged myself to the Dark Lord. I intend to honor that pledge. He’s released me from my vows to you,” Lucius said, firmly and Narcissa stared at him for a long moment, as if she were seeing him for the first time. And, perhaps, she was. Perhaps, she saw all that could’ve been and all that wasn’t.

It didn’t matter to Lucius. It hadn’t in a long time.

“And that will be treason,” Narcissa said, softly.

“Treason?” Lucius laughed. He stood and turned away.

Narcissa frowned. “No one walks away from me,” Narcissa hissed.

Lucius’ eyes narrowed and he spun back around to look fully at his wife. Narcissa stared back at him. He imagined that she would look like a snake when he looked at her. Instead, she looked impossibly young—like when they had married. She hadn’t been so cold then. It was before she had banished her father and Rowena, but after Lily had been sent away. She had been so afraid. He could see it in her eyes.

“I thought I loved you, once,” Lucius admitted.

He had lept at the chance when Voldemort had proposed a match between them. Now, he was aching to run. Run all the way to Westeron.

“You would leave your son?” Narcissa demanded.

Lucius laughed, harsh and mean. “I think we both know he’s _your_ son. You wouldn’t even let him have my _name._ He is a Slytherin, through and through.”

Narcissa slowly stepped around from her desk, her hands shaking as she approached him. Lucius knew that Narcissa was too unstable. She could strike any moment. He looked over her head and relaxed somewhat when he saw her wand on her desk. But, he didn’t underestimate her. She could Summon it easily. Instead, she reached up and cupped his face.

Her hands felt like ice.

“No one walks away from me,” Narcissa repeated, her voice soft. And Lucius knew that so _many_ had turned away from her. So many had left her, again and again, and perhaps that was why she was so broken that she had turned herself to ice.

But, it was her choices that mattered, then. No one else’s.

"I am," he said, softly, and he walked away, fully expecting the green bolt of magic. It didn't come. Lucius glanced over his shoulder.

Narcissa sank to her knees, her lips parted, and her eyes _terrified_.

Lucius was a coward. He could not turn around and pull her close. He could not whisper his forgiveness into her ear. A better man could. But, he couldn’t. He couldn’t forgive the rage and pain that had twisted their son into a monster. He could not forgive the war and devastation. He could not forgive the terrible beauty that had made him want to stay in the first place.

So, Lucius continued to walk.

And she mouthed, over and over again, _They all walk away from me._

He didn’t look back again.

* * *

**OF THEM**

* * *

 

Harry sunk deeper into his large basin, dragging his hands through the oils infused water. He’d never had luxurious baths before. Most often, he would bathe in the river a while away from Little Whinging in the dead of the night to avoid anyone peeping on him or in Petunia’s room, to avoid Dudley’s friends staring at him, though often they would try.

But, even at war, he was being better-treated than he had been in his entire life.

Harry stiffened when he heard the clearing of a man’s throat outside of his tent.

“Who is it?” he called.

“Me.”

Harry’s lips curled into a playful smirk. Slowly, he lifted a foot out of the basin, extending his leg and slowly dragged his sponge down his calf.

“Come in, then!”

The tent flaps swung open and Harry didn’t have to turn around to know that Voldemort had paused. He imagined the way the man’s nostrils would flare, the way his pupils would dilate. The way the man would lick his lips as if all he wanted to do was eat Harry alive.

“You could’ve told me you were bathing,” Voldemort began.

“Does it bother you, my Lord?” Harry taunted as Voldemort walked around the basin to stare him in the face. The man’s eyes consumed him, watching everywhere.

“No,” Voldemort allowed.

“Good,” Harry scoffed. He leaned forward, eyes full of challenge. “You’re filthy.”

It wasn’t a lie. The man was covered in sweat, just as Harry had been. There had been sparring, training, and everything in between. Freia had been rather messy at dinner, as well, showering them both in the stench of sheep’s blood. Harry’s robes had been put in the wash immediately, and he was on his second bath, one to relax rather than clean.

“And?” Voldemort demanded.

“Bathe with me. Unless you’re afraid,” Harry said.

Voldemort scoffed, refusing to dignify his words with an answer as he swiftly began to disrobe. Harry's eyes widened as his challenge was met, and he grinned, his cheeks flushed pink. The Dark Lord let his robe drop to the ground and he pushed his trousers over powerful muscular thighs, revealing the thatch of hair and his ample cock.

Well, Harry had missed _that_ view.

“I’m feeling rather objectified,” Voldemort said, loftily.

Harry smirked. “Welcome to the party. Now, come. Bathe. It’s large enough for both of us.”

Also, not a lie. Voldemort stepped into the steaming hot water and slowly sank down. Harry pulled his legs against his chest and Voldemort unfurled, his long legs brushing against Harry’s thighs.

“So, you are the Wyrdfod,” Voldemort hummed. “Aye, you are.”

“And you are...many things,” Harry started, nervously. They would talk about Firenze’s words. It was inevitable.

“For 17 years, I’ve seen that look on face after face,” Voldemort said, softly as he lounged in the bath, his arms perched on the sides of the enormous basin.

“What look?” Harry whispered, his voice cracking nervously.

“You were finally scared of me,” Voldemort hissed, almost taunting. “Of all the names that he called an honorless man like me. Kingmaker. Oathbreaker. Kinslayer. Kingslayer.”

Harry swallowed hard at the names. He had heard all of them. Voldemort didn't look regretful, his cheeks pink from the heat of the water. Harry barely reacted to the water, reveling in the tepid heat and he cleared his throat.

“Tell me.”

Voldemort raised an eyebrow as he ducked forward, cupping water in his broad hands and splashing his face and hair. When he emerged, he asked, “Tell you what?”

“Tell me about each name,” Harry said, quietly.

Voldemort hesitated for a long moment before he nodded.

"The first. Kingmaker," Voldemort murmured softly. Harry scooted forward, pulling his knees to his chest as he regarded Voldemort with hesitation. "When I came of age, a Seer came to me as it comes to every royal child, with the exception of yourself. The Seer came to me and my sister before all of the court and gave us our names. And she was called Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer and the Seer spoke power into her. Spoke of blood and water and womb and everything. _You are the Chaos-Bringer, child, fair of face. Reflections lie, and reflections reveal. Then, you shall know what is real; it shall end in fire and steel_.”

He said it so gently, as if he were speaking a nursery rhyme and not a prophecy that spelled someone’s doom, or rather, becoming. Bellatrix had become Queen through the fire that crafted the Gilded Throne. She had stolen it through steel and the empire’s fate had been sealed. Harry shivered and was glad that he had never received a coming of age prophecy.

“And you?” Harry prompted.

Voldemort hummed. “I was hailed as the Kingmaker. _Son of snakes, child of ice and mirrors. You shall be the destroyer of kingdoms and the creator of empires._ I was always destined to fashion rulers, never be the ruler, and that suited my purposes well.”

Harry swallowed as he looked at the man. Voldemort was a beautiful man but, he operated best in the shadows, free of expectation and the public’s control. Bellatrix had not been well-loved but, there hadn’t been an outright rebellion during her seventeen-year long reign for a reason. The man before Harry was the reason. The man that would make _him_ king. The man that had crowned him.

Harry wondered if Voldemort had crowned Bellatrix too.

“Oathbreaker. Kinslayer,” Harry said.

He knew the two titles went hand in hand.

“I am no Kinslayer,” Voldemort growled, splashing the water. “But, I am an Oathbreaker.”

“Tell me. Tom,” Harry said, whispering his name.

Voldemort didn’t seem to hear him.

"I have made oaths to every single one of my sisters and I have broken each and every one. To Narcissa...I promised her a throne in exchange for the blood and bones of her best friend. I had no intention of carrying through and when she realized...it was too late, I suppose. I have made her what she is," Voldemort confessed and Harry knew that this would be the price for demanding all of Voldemort.

He would hear his sins too and would absolve the ones he could.

“You are not her. She _made_ her choices,” Harry said, firmly.

Voldemort scoffed. “And Andromeda...I promised her happiness. And all that I have brought her is grief and strife. I swore to protect our blood, and I’ve done nothing of the sort.”

“And yet, she is welcoming you back. Everyone makes mistakes—”

“Bella.” And with that one name, Harry fell silent. Voldemort looked rather far away in that moment. “ _Promise me, Tom. Promise that I won’t die. Promise me._ And I promised. She is ash and dust now. My sister. The one I knew before I knew myself. Ash and dust.”

“That was _Narcissa_ ,” Harry said furiously, reaching for Voldemort’s hands. He grabbed them and squeezed tight, forcing the man to look at him. “Narcissa did all of it. Perhaps your actions were the catalyst but—”

“I would’ve ripped out your heart, Harry Potter,” Voldemort snarled. Harry ripped his hands back in shock. “I would’ve torn your heart from your chest and eaten it whole. Do you understand that?”

Harry knew that the man was trying to terrify him. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I know,” Harry barked. “But, it’s the one oath you won’t break. You won’t.”

Voldemort didn’t hesitate. “No, I won’t.”

Harry relaxed, releasing tension that he hadn’t even known he held in his neck and shoulders. He leaned forward in the bath.

“And the final one? Kingslayer,” Harry asked.

“Do you think that the Founders’ time was peaceful, Harry Wildfyre? It wasn’t,” Voldemort said, shortly. “The Tabooed weren’t universally despised. Not in the least. They had support amongst the Houses. They _did._ Houses that no longer exist. The Good King Godric was obsessed once he took his throne. I was the strongest. My father thought it best to send me. Sweetling, I have been the executioner far longer than I was anything else. Godric saw traitors everywhere and they _were_ everywhere. Until they weren’t.”

Harry shivered. He leaned forward. “What did you _do_?” he whispered.

“He told me ‘Kill them all’. ‘Kill them in their homes. Blood them in their beds’,” Voldemort said, his red gaze never wavering as he spoke about the Good King Godric Gryffindor. “I murdered men, women, and children. There were Muggle Houses once. They are no longer. Not after they had supported the Tabooed. Strongholds destroyed. History and bloodlines eradicated. _‘Kill them all’_.”

Harry’s eyes welled with tears and his heart ached. _Kill them all._ His heart ached for the children that had been slaughtered in a godless war that had ended long before they had been thoughts. Children and mothers and fathers that had been murdered for believing in something different, for having prospered during a different era.

“And you killed them all,” Harry murmured.

“Dark magic was the easiest way to end it but, dark magic takes it toll. It destroys beauty and youth. Bella and I were aging. But, Pandora found us. After Bellatrix and I slaughtered House Fawley, a house of half-bloods and squibs, in the middle of goblin country, she saw me in the ashes and she whispered the secrets of a mirror. Told us a way to escape our fate. So, we did,” Voldemort said, leaning back in the bath and he looked at the horrified look on Harry’s face. Voldemort scoffed, shaking his head. “I am not a good man but, I do the things I do for a good reason.”

“My grandfather…”

Voldemort interrupted him, “My father stood by and watched as his two eldest were fashioned into weapons. The day I murdered your grandfather was the day I learned how to be a _real_ monster. Like _him_. ‘Kill them all’ he said to a boy that swallowed a snake’s heart. So, I killed them all; I killed my monster and fashioned a throne as monstrous as we.”

Harry stared at the man and wanted to weep. Instead, he reached forward, brushing suds from Tom's cheeks, wondering if some of the bathwater was really salt water. He couldn't imagine Tom crying.

And that didn’t make it okay. None of it was okay. If Harry had been in Voldemort’s position, he would’ve fought. He would’ve said _no_. Harry would’ve said no, and would’ve died before he had hurt innocent people. None of Voldemort’s words were an excuse for the devastation that he had caused. All of the terrible things that he had done—the murder, the war, the terror—but, it was the truth. It was his truth, and Harry didn’t think that Voldemort— _Tom_ had ever really told his truth before.

Tom had looked him in the eye and told him his truth.

Tom, who Harry wanted more than anything. Tom, who Harry _needed_ more than anyone.

“Tom... _Tom_ ,” Harry whispered softly.

“Why are you saying my name?” Tom rasped under Harry’s touch.

Harry swallowed. “It’s the only name that matters to _me._ ”

“Harry—”

"I want you," Harry said, slowly moving forward through the water, suds, and water dripping down the hard planes of his body. Tom's eyes followed the streams of water, the way the water sloshed over the sides of the bathtub. "I want to be with you."

“You don’t know me,” Tom drawled. He didn’t move as Harry crawled between his legs through the water. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Don’t give me that. You’ve just told me your names. I know you, Tom Marvolo,” Harry said, softly and he cleared his throat. “I want to be with you. And you want to be with me. So, be with me.”

“Your followers won’t like this. They’ve only just learned how to tolerate me,” Tom said, softly. Even as he spoke Harry rubbed his cheek against his neck. “We’ve fucked—”

Harry pulled back, cupping his face. “Oh my dear tragedy, I don’t want to just fuck. I want to be with you. _Inwi nwaly ten’ke_.”

“Do you even know what that means?” Tom barked.

And Harry whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of Tom’s ear, “I _ache_ for you.”

Tom hesitated for only have a second before he pulled Harry’s face to his, pressing his lips to the King’s in a desperate kiss. Harry shifted swiftly, the water sloshing over the sides of the tub, soaking and staining the rugs laid out on the floor of his tent. His hands slipped over Tom’s slippery skin, down his broad shoulders. He dug his nails into Tom’s skin. The Dark Lord groaned into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, licking into Harry’s mouth.

They only pulled back to breathe and Harry’s heart ached at the look on Tom’s face.

Tom looked younger than Harry had ever seen him. His face was open and soft, his lips gently parted and swollen. Vulnerable. Harry’s lips pulled into a soft smile.

“I want you,” Tom said, as quiet as a confession.

“You have me,” Harry promised.

Tom stood immediately, dragging Harry from the tub. Harry couldn’t keep his hands off, pressing himself close to Tom’s back, his cock brushing against Tom’s ass and the back of his thighs. Tom spun around again as they reached the edge of Harry’s bed. His eyes roved over Harry, as if he couldn’t believe the sight before him.

“You are so…” Tom’s voice dropped off and then he sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling Harry into his lap. Harry straddled the man’s thighs, cupping Tom’s jaw and the back of his neck.

Harry brushed their noses together, unwilling to tear his green eyes from Tom’s red orbs.

“What am I?” Harry whispered.

“Too many things. Extraordinary. Powerful. Gorgeous. Terrifying,” Tom murmured. “You are so beautiful, I am afraid to look at you.”

Harry hummed and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Tom’s mouth. Tom’s hands wandered from his waist to his ass, squeezing tightly. Harry gasped as Tom rocked up against him, their cocks pressed together. Harry was already hard, his sex pulsing gently with pleasure. Harry dragged his fingers through Tom’s hair, down the nape of his neck, his back, leaving traces of him everywhere. He pulled away from Tom’s mouth, whining softly.

“Tell me...tell me what you are?” Tom gasped against his mouth.

Harry quivered under the weight of Tom’s stare and buried his face in the man’s neck. He left soft, bruising kisses that made Tom rock up against him harder. Harry mewled, wrapping his legs around Tom’s waist and ground down.

Suddenly, the world twisted and Harry’s back hit the soft mattress.

Harry gasped as Tom pulled him close, slowly pressing him down to his sheets. Harry didn’t mind how damp his sheets were as he reached up, running his hands up the man’s chest, over his shoulders, clinging to him.

“Please...please,” Harry whispered.

Tom hushed him, gently, nodding as he rolled his pelvis between Harry's thighs. Harry gasped, wrapping his legs around the back of Tom's thighs, clinging tighter to him. He kissed him, desperately, licking into his mouth, tasting Tom, trying to memorize the ridges of his mouth and the taste buds on his tongue. He wanted to know all of him and never forget a single line of him.

Tom pulled away and kissed Harry’s jaw and neck and groaned.

“Harry...sweetling,” Tom breathed into the skin behind Harry’s ear. “Tell me. Are you beautiful?”

“No,” Harry whispered. “I am not merely beautiful. I am _extraordinary_. I am powerful. I am terror.”

And Tom grinned.

Harry threw his hand out and his magic responded, sending a small vial of bath oils into his hand. He struggled to open it as he continued to kiss Tom's shoulder, his thighs tight around the man's waist. The cork fell away and oil spilled all over Harry's chest and fingers. Harry whined as Tom dipped his head to kiss at his chest, his tongue flicking over hard nipples.

“Wait, wait,” Harry urged, pulling Tom’s mouth back to his as he reached lower, tugging gently at Tom’s cock. Tom moaned into his mouth. Harry’s hand slipped lower until oil-soaked fingers brushed against his own entrance and slowly he slid a finger in.

His breath hitched and Tom looked down, eyes wide.

“Are you… _fingering_ yourself?” Tom hissed.

“Y-yes. I...like it,” Harry admitted, his cheeks flushed with arousal as he slid a second one in, rocking against the stretch of his fingers. Tom fell back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair.

“Can I watch?” Tom murmured.

Harry snorted. “You are a pervert,” he accused though he didn’t deny Tom’s request. He spread his legs wider and grabbed a pillow with unoccupied hand, lifting his hips for just a moment to settle himself. He slid two fingers in and threw his head back and let out a shuddering moan. “T-Tom.”

“Fuck,” Tom breathed, his fingers tracking the way Harry scissored his fingers, stretching his hole taut and slowly sinking in a third. “Just... _fuck._ ”

“I’m not going to ask again, Tom. Fuck me?” Harry breathed as he began to rock against his fingers, attempting to ride them faster than he could move them. The world was so slow and his fingers slowed and then stopped. He slowly pulled them out even though the empty aching turn his stomach. He reached out. “Tom. Tom, I _want_ you. Do you want me?”

“Gods, yes. I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he confessed and then Tom stopped, as if he was terrified that he was too vulnerable, that Harry could see him stripped down bare to his soul. Harry reached out and grabbed his hand.

“You think too much. Feel me,” Harry murmured and then he tugged Tom forward until the man was hovering over him, supporting himself on one hand.

Harry refused to tear his eyes away from that red gaze. In that moment, the red didn’t remind him of blood or rust or war. They reminded him of flames and rubies and changing leaves. It reminded him of autumn. They had met on an autumn day.

Harry gasped when Tom entered him. It was a milder stretch than the first time but, it was still warm and hard, unyielding where his fingers had been. Harry’s hands scrambled along Tom’s back, his fingernails pressing hard against his shoulder blades.

“You feel…Harry…” Tom breathed in his ear.

“Shhhh,” Harry murmured. “Just...just _feel._ ”

Tom hummed and then they were moving together. And it felt no different from when they paused while training, Harry pinned underneath him, or Harry backing Tom up against a tree. The intimacy that overwhelmed him, and made Harry's head spin. Harry looped an arm around Tom's neck and brought him down until he could crush their lips together. Harry lost himself in the rhythm of it, of the way Tom's lip felt between his, the feeling of their tongues scraping together.

The way Tom tasted.

The way Tom felt inside of him.

Tom reached down and hoisted Harry's thigh high on his waist and Harry followed suit, wrapping his legs around Tom's middle as he raked his hand through the man's hair, massaging his scalp. Tom looked down at him with bright red eyes full of all of the things he was too proud or too terrified to say aloud.

And Harry only smiled.

He pulled him down and kissed him for a million years and Tom kissed him back, one hand buried in Harry’s hair as he rocked into him over and over again, moans spilling into Harry’s mouth. Harry could taste them all his tongue and he reached one hand down as the heat built low in his belly. He wrapped his fingers around his cock and slowly pulled and twisted in time with Tom’s thrusts. His muffled noises turned to high-pitched groans and Tom moved faster, kissing sloppily down his jawline and neck, sucking bruises into snow white skin.

“Cum, Harry” Tom hissed against the hollow of his collarbone. “Cum for me.”

“Kiss me,” Harry demanded back and Tom kissed him hard, bruising his lips burgundy. And Harry’s vision turned white as he gasped through his orgasm, spending on his belly. Tom groaned into his mouth, thrusting faster and faster until he gasped into Harry’s mouth.

Harry felt that wet heat that he hadn’t exactly missed. Tom hovered for just a second and then he rolled over, falling onto his back. Harry hummed, staring up at the draped folds of the tent ceiling. He listened to the crackling in the fireplace and he twitched his hand lazily. The flames dimmed.

“You’re too much,” Tom said, his voice cracking with hoarseness. He reached for his wand and gave a lazy flick. Harry winced at the feeling of his skin as the drying cum Vanished. His skin felt tight and new. “You’re too much for me, Harry Wildfyre. You’ll ruin me.”

“Shut up,” Harry muttered and he turned on his side, pressing his face deeper into the pillows. Without looking up, he reached a hand out and he felt the mattress shift underneath him at Tom rolled closer until their naked bodies were aligned, Tom’s spent dick pressed against the small of his back.

It wasn’t sexual now but, it was _intimate._

“You want me to hold you,” Tom breathed in his ear, teasing.

“I thought I terrified you,” Harry grumbled, exhausted.

Tom laughed, softly, and wrapped his arm around Harry’s middle, pulling him even tighter against his body and then he reached down to pull the covers over them. Harry hummed at the warmth, slowly becoming more content.

“You do, Harry Wildfyre. You do,” Tom murmured as he slid his other arm underneath Harry’s body until Harry was completely wrapped up in him.

“You can’t leave me. Promise me, Tom,” Harry whispered, his eyes closed. Tom’s arms tightened around the King and Tom buried his nose in Harry’s hair. “You can’t leave me. Until the world turns to ashes. Don’t leave me alone. Promise me, Tom. Promise.”

“I swear.”

* * *

**ALL?**

* * *

 

Harry stared ahead at the great castle that was Westeron. It looked just as he imagined it.

The white cliffs looked scraped by centuries of age, and the stone of the castle crawled down its sides, eating the edge whole. There was something distinctly _magical_ about this castle, just as Godric’s Hollow had felt. Harry looked overhead as Freia shrieked, finally allowed to fly. She circled Westeron and Harry knew she felt it too.

Harry led them forward, walking up the sloped mountainside, his eyes on Westeron. It loomed in front of him, daunting and purposeful. Harry jerked away, suddenly overwhelmed by nerves. Instead, he walked towards the edges of the cliff, glancing over his shoulder at the army of creatures that followed him. They always watched him, with awe in their eyes. With expectation.

He walked with purpose, his red battle robes swinging around him. He ignored the way the refugees and the creatures that had followed him bowed. Instead, he stood on the cliffs and stared out across the Narrow Sea.

This was his. This was his _birthright._

Harry had never had anything to call his own but, Westeron belonged to him. It was the place his mother had been born. Helga Hufflepuff had intended to give it to her when she passed. In another life, a Slytherin child and Lily Gryffindor would’ve ruled side by side. But, that was another life and all Harry had was that life. The life where Westeron belonged to _him._

Harry turned away from the cliffs.

He looked up at the great stone fortress of Westeron, the city surrounding it beckoning towards him. Slowly, he approached. His party stayed just far enough away. They knew—even Tom knew—that this moment belonged to him.

Harry walked towards the mouth of the city, and he saw that the structures that they had raised so far paled in comparison to the only one that mattered. Standing, taller than any other structure was a wooden pole, several stories up and waving from it was the flag of Gryffindor. Harry’s lips curled into a small smile as he took a step into the city that he had made possible.

Harry paused when he saw the people that peered out of the windows in both fear and awe. Harry slowly walked through the unnamed city, his eyes only on the steps that reached far about the city that led into Westeron. Harry continued on his journey forward as the people watched, falling to their knees in worship. As he walked past, every single person—man, woman, and child—fell to their knees as if he were divine.

The King of Albion continued through the city and when he reached the steps, he saw the Weasleys, standing in a straight line. Madame McGonagall, Moody, and Fendwick waited just a few steps up. Ginny stepped forward. She didn't say a word, only crossed her wand over her chest and fell on one knee, parting them. Her brothers followed in step, all swearing their wands to Harry. Harry brushed his hand over Ginny's shoulder, squeezing hard in acknowledgment. She grabbed his hand and squeezed back.

And then Harry let her go, moving forward up the stairs. He stopped before the trio of elders. McGonagall stared at him for a long moment, as if she were searching for something. Harry never broke their gaze, staring back into the abyss. And then, McGonagall nodded and stepped to the side.

Harry didn’t continue his journey up the steps to Westeron. He hesitated, staring down at his feet. He wouldn’t look back but, he couldn’t seem to move forward. A great shadow passed over his head, wings outstretched and he heard Freia’s shriek. He looked up as she flew, circling one old tower and landed on the roof. She arched her neck and let out a roar of flames. Harry’s lips pulled into a smile and he continued on.

It felt like seconds and ages before he reached the top of the steps and the doors, nearly two stories tall swung open for him. He looked into the Entrance Hall and the large stone staircases that curled upwards in circles. But, Harry had no mind for that. Instead, he moved forward, straight through the middle, pushing through a second set of doors.

He stopped in the doorway of the grand Hall of Westeron.

The walls were tall with windows running from ceiling to the floor, decorated with banners Hufflepuff yellow and a curled badger. Harry’s lips curled into a smile as he walked up the mustard yellow runner, approaching the dais where an onyx chair sat, narrow and upright.

“Welcome, King Harry Wildfyre,” Andromeda said, from the left of the chair. She held her hand out towards the throne. “Welcome, King in the West.”

Harry approached the chair, running his hands up the solid onyx. It still felt warm. Harry pulled away and looked past it to the small open door. He continued through it and stopped in the doorway as he looked at the men and woman that stood around the half-circle. He knew what this room was, just as he had recognized the similar room in the Hollow.

Harry stepped forward and looked around at the council table. The seat dead center waited for him. The seats on either side of him were empty, and Tonks and Tom stepped around him, going to assume their own seats. McGonagall sat next to Tom, Ron standing just behind her chair. Ginny sat next to Tonks, looking rather solemn. Kingsley went to sit next to McGonagall and Bill say next to Ginny. Harry tore his eyes away and looked at the enormous map before them, shaped like the continent.

Harry raised his wand and the map glowed, river and mountains and castles and pieces growing forth and Harry slowly walked around the council arc, never tearing his eyes away as Hogwarts jutted from the middle, proud and terrible and truly all his. He glanced at the mark of Godric's Hollow, a red little banner waving from it. Harry's gaze was drawn to Hogwarts again.

Andromeda stood in the doorway, a man—most probably, Regulus Black—stood behind her, watching him with shrewd eyes. Harry turned his eyes back to the table.

This was not just a council anymore. This was a _war_ council.

“Shall we begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, then. Here it is. I don't have much to say. Just...Harry and Tom did the deed. Again. And this time, that's sticking.
> 
> As this is chapter twenty, that means we only have six more chapters until the climax of this arc. So, things are going to start happening, very, very fast. I'm going to level with you all now: though this will still be vaguely GoT-esque, a lot of it is going to kinda go away after the next chapter as we move into the end of this arc and the third arc, as I need to wrap up the fairytale endings. And I'm going to warn you that some character death is going to happen. Major or minor, I'll never tell, but it's going to happen. Now, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> I really, really, really hope y'all leave reviews. Even small ones. They're so, so encouraging. So please, please, please, tell me you like it. I'm a writer. All writers are narcissistic as fuck and need validation. I'm just one of many.
> 
> Until next time!


	9. Chapter Nine

 

A group of warriors waited on the shores. Cedric’s eyes streamed from the salt-laden air and the water that splashed in the faces, crashing against the white shores of Afallon. He looked towards the group. It was a mixture of Muggle, wizarding, and creature but, all looked fearsome in their own way. Their leader seemed to be a tall blonde centaur, draped in fine leathers.

“The Prince and Princess of Alfheim and his Adored Ones. Welcome to Albion,” the centaur said.

Cedric jumped out of the rowboat and nodded. He offered his hand to Cho and she grabbed it, her nose wrinkling as she stomped through sloshing water, soaking her leathers and robes.

“Thank you. And your name, Sir?” Cedric asked, awkwardly.

“I am Firenze, one of the King’s advisors. The King knows this was a long journey. He appreciates the effort made on his behalf,” Firenze said and he looked around the other warriors that stood, watching Cedric, Cho, and the Adored Ones with the wariness of men and women at war.

Two looked particularly suspicious, a young man dressed with a strange austerity, black hair waving to his shoulder and an older man with a large hooked nose and a curtain of black hair to his shoulders. Cedric thought back to the dossier that they kept on the ship—the older man must be Severus Snape, a Death Eater. Amelia had said the man was distinct in appearance.

“We’ll need your weapons,” Severus Snape said, impatiently.

Justin made an aborted sound of protest in the back of his throat that was silenced Hannah’s well-placed elbow between his ribs.

“Of course,” Cedric said, as pleasantly as he could despite the tense silence. He felt Cho squeeze tightly at his hand but he ignored it. “Will we be allowed to keep our wands?”

“For now,” Firenze allowed with a small smile.

That was foreboding. Cedric handed over his blade and gave a pointed look to his Adored Ones. All hesitant, they passed their steel and bows to the soldiers that waited, their arms held out. Cedric looked at their robes. Most of them had the red emblem of the phoenix on their breasts. So, Order members. Not just ordinary soldiers. Even more foreboding.

“Your Highness—” Firenze began.

“Please. Cedric,” Cedric insisted. Cho elbowed him in the stomach but, Cedric ignored her.

"Of course. Cedric. Please, this way," Firenze insisted and Cedric had nowhere to go but up. He allowed Firenze to lead them around the long cliffs, up to a narrow set of stairs carved into the cliffside. Cho clung to his side as they began to ascend, his Adored Ones at his back, and the Order members rounding out their ‘escort’.

“O-oh...it’s beautiful,” Cho murmured as they walked past the cliffs and around, and they could finally see Westeron in all its glory, attached to the white cliffs Cho had admired when they had approached.

"It is, isn't it?" Firenze murmured with a smile. He curled to the right where the staircase parted in two and they ascended more and more, silent as the crash of the waves were so loud they wouldn't be able to hear on another anyway.

They finally walked onto the flat ground after another five minutes in a tense silence.

Cedric’s eyes widened as he saw what occupied most of the flat ground to the front of Westeron. A sprawling city rested at its foundation, nearly covered by Westeron’s shadow. And surrounding the city was a camp of thousands. Cedric gasped as he saw centaurs training, bows in hand, trolls and Veela clashing together with steel. Banshees shrieking and witches and wizards all training in tandem with Muggles.

“That is...there must be at least 5000 creatures,” Anthony breathed as he walked to Cedric’s right, covering him and Firenze smiled down at them.

“And growing. We thought that the King would only be at 5000 for his army. But, once the people heard who he was...what he was _capable_ of, they came, like sheep flock to the shepherd. The King turns few away," Firenze said and he tilted his head, curiously. "Once you join to our cause, we will easily be a match for Draco's army."

Cedric winced, shifting nervously as he was reminded once more of why he had come to this foreign land.

“And they are all properly trained?” Justin demanded.

“Not quite,” Snape said, maliciously.

The Alfheimeans stared at the strange man but, he barely looked at them, instead parting away to walk through the sea of trainees. Firenze continued to lead them through the military camp, and Cedric did his best to ignore the stares from all the creatures that Cho had only read to him about but, he had never actually _seen._

“Severus is correct,” Firenze admitted. “But, we have experts training them.”

“Who?” Anthony barked. “We will not fight with untrained children.”

“The Lestranges. Severus Snape. Lucius Malfoy.”

Death Eaters. Well, that would do it. All men that had been trained by the man that was allegedly the most powerful man in the world.

“And the Dark Lord?” Cho whispered.

“He only trains the Wyrdfod. I mean, the King,” Firenze corrected himself. “He only makes Kings. So he will only train Kings.”

Cedric wasn't sure what to make of that but, he nodded as if he understood anyway. He wouldn't question the man who had destroyed two of the Founders of Light, Godric, and Helga. He was the man that had brought all of Albion to its knees.

“I see. Will the Dark Lord—”

And then, there was a loud screech, louder and more terrible than anything Cedric had ever heard before. He yanked Cho to the ground as a dark shadow loomed over them and he pulled his wand, frantic. He looked up to see a great winged creature, larger than even a house fly over his head. It’s great reptilian wings stretched wide, long and leathery and spikes ran along its body, from the crown of its head down to the end of its long serpent-like tale.

“Dragon!” Anthony snarled. “There’s a fucking _dragon!_ ”

Cedric’s blood was chilled and he looked around.

No one else had flinched, instead only staring up at the flying _beast_ in wonder, pointing and _smiling_ , like it wasn’t the most dangerous creature that had roamed the fucking earth.

“What the _fuck_ was...there’s a _dragon_? A wild dragon?" Cedric snarled, his blood boiling as he stood up. Cho shuddered, trembling with terror.

“No...dragons are _extinct_ ,” Cho whispered, looking around at all of the madness.

“She is not wild. She is Freia,” Firenze said, simply. He smiled wider. “She belongs to the King.”

“He has a dragon?” Cho said, bewildered and Firenze nodded.

“Freia was born into his hands from a petrified egg that he warmed with his Fire,” Firenze said and he sighed. “Now, the King is waiting for you.”

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

“The final lesson,” Tonks whispered as Harry stood in his chambers, only in his smallclothes. She ignored the bruises on his neck, on his belly. He would tell her in time. Now, there were far more important things to worry about.

“The final one. They’re on their way, Tonks. Come on,” Harry said, impatiently when Tonks hesitated. His cheeks were slightly pink as she inspected his body but, he refused to apologize or explain. Not yet, anyway.

Harry stared at Tonks, ready for his final lesson. Tonks cleared her throat and waved her wand, Summoning the robes. Harry stared at them in awe. They were grand battle robes—light chainmail and dragon scales, dyed red for his sigil. Harry grinned and glanced at Hedwig. Hedwig was lost under the bed, chasing the rat that Tonks had brought for her. He felt Freia land rather than saw her, the ceiling rocking as she attached herself to the roof just above his head.

She would probably crawl down the side of the castle and attach herself to watch the proceedings through the window. Freia would always protect him.

“You once asked why I dressed like a whore. I will tell you now,” Tonks said and Harry nodded, folding his hand in his laps, waiting for the woman’s final words of wisdom.

“You said that it was because you seduced men’s secrets from them,” Harry said and Tonks nodded in agreement, her dark eyes flashing.

Tonks could see this man on the throne. He had killed the boy and this _man_ had been born. This man who knew what he desired, with ambition that was never-ending. Harry Wildfyre would not stop until he had the crown, but he could still learn. He was still a student in the ways of power and Tonks would teach him, though no one had been there to teach Tonks.

“Yes. But, to take secrets, you must have power. I _take_ power,” Tonks said, sharply. “It is said that Narcissa of House Slytherin wears creams and rouges to war.” Her voice was soft, as if she were telling a fairy story, the kinds that she had told Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasley brood when they were all still children in armor. “That is her mask, her power, and you shall have one too. You shall wear these robes and on your hip, a sword. They call you Fairest. This is your _mask_. Your cheeks are pale but, they will think your cheeks hollow with a hunger for power. Your lips redder than blood. Your eyes are green but, they are rimmed with darkness."

“You want them to fear me,” Harry whispered, brow furrowed in confusion.

Tonks sat on the bed and she smiled when Hedwig bowled her way onto her lap, the little lioness cub.

“Power is a curious thing,” Tonks insisted.

“It is,” Harry whispered, leaning forward as Tonks stroked Hedwig, gently, cooing as the lioness cub mewled at her.

“Tell me, do you fancy riddles?” Tonks asked.

Harry shrugged. “Maybe. Do you tell good ones?” he asked, hissing and purring at Freia. Freia hopped into his lap, making that shrieking baby sound that made him smile.

“Three great men sit in a room: a king, a priest, and a rich man. Between them stands a common sellsword. Each great man bids the sellsword kill the other two. Who loves, who dies?” Tonks asked.

“Depends on the sellsword,” Harry decided and Tonks smiled.

She raised her violet eyebrow. “Does it? He has neither crown, nor gold, nor favor with the gods.”

“He has a sword, the power of life and death,” Harry insisted.

“Ah...but if it’s swordsmen who rule, why do we pretend kings hold all the power?” Tonks asked. Harry scoffed and frowned, turning away, cuddling Freia tighter to his chest. “Power resides where men believe it resides. It’s a trick. A shadow on the wall. Just as the mask.”

“So, my power does not exist, then? It’s fake?” Harry demanded.

Tonks hummed. “Power is a _trick_. It is not something given or inherited. It is taken. The point, my friend, is that you will don these robes and you will demand it. They will know that you are Hadrian Wildfyre of House Potter and Gryffindor, the First of His Name, and you will _not_ be denied. Will you?”

And Harry thought about it. He thought about the terrible things he had endured throughout his life. He remembered blood, and that memory...that _day_ he had realized that beauty was a curse. Until it wasn't. Until…

“No. I will not. I am Harry Wildfyre. The Fairest of Them All. Beauty is terror,” Harry whispered to himself and he didn’t notice the way Tonks’ eyes widened or the sharp inhale she gave as he stood and ran his fingers over the dragon scale. _Freia’s_ scales.

“And what does that mean?” she asked, a prompt.

Harry looked up, a brightness to his eye. “ _I_ am terror.”

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Cho swallowed hard as the small party was led by the great centaur. The centaur, Firenze, looked behind him with a small smile and nodded.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said.

“Don’t be afraid? He has a _dragon_ ,” Ernie choked out, squeaking.

Cedric kept his face stern but Cho could feel the tension in the way he held her hand. She squeezed once, without looking away, and he squeezed back. Even terrified, Cho couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

“We have to do this. Gringotts doesn’t view us as stable just yet. If we get the support from the rightful king of Albion, we’ll be able to strengthen our country. We can trade with them,” Cho said, the logical one despite her terror. She looked around and only Hannah nodded.

Cho knew they would stay terrified. They were weaponless in Afallon, the West of the Alboin Empire. They were allying themselves with the one loyalists called Pretender. There was a dragon outside, and they had no idea what to expect or how to defend their prince and princess against two Slytherins and a man that was supposedly the most powerful person in Albion if he could rein in Slytherins. Firenze led them down the enormous Entrance Hall and slowly the doors creaked open.

And then, she saw him.

He was more beautiful than the letters had proclaimed him.

His face was calm, big green eyes set into them, his mouth red and plush. His hair was a messy black nest of curls. His skin was so pale as if the sun never touched him. He wore battle robes of dragon skin and chainmail, all dyed red. He didn't wear his House sigil. He didn't need it. After all, there was a great albino lioness that lounged in front of his feet.

Standing immediately to his left was the Dark Lord Voldemort. She knew it was him—from his handsome, strong jaw to his crimson war bright eyes. His black hair was slicked away from his face and he was completely covered in black, from his neck down. Even his hands were gloved and the sword that had slain thousands glinted maliciously on his hip.

A pink-haired woman cloaked in crimson stepped forward.

“You stand in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, the Wyrdfod, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Afallon, the Alpha of the Pride, and the Fairest-of-Them-All,” the pink-haired woman declared, her chin held high.

The Fairest inclined his head, a slight smile on his face. Cedric cleared his throat, looking back at Justin. Justin stepped forward.

“This is Cedric Diggory. Prince of Alfheim,” Justin choked out, mesmerized by the beautiful king.

And when he spoke, Cho was stricken.

"Thank you for traveling so far, your Highness. I hope the seas weren't too rough," he said. As he spoke, the lioness at his feet yawned, her great mouth opening wide enough to swallow a grown man. Cho shivered again.

“The winds were kind, your Grace,” Cedric said, roughly. “We come to negotiate.”

“I am the last Gryffindor. The last Potter. The Fairest of Them All. The rightful King-Emperor of Albion,” the Fairest said. He leaned forward and the lioness stood, lazily, pacing in front of him. “You’ve come to pledge your aide, am I wrong?”

“Not quite, your Grace. We come to negotiate,” Cedric repeated.

The Fairest tilted his head, as if he didn’t understand his words. He looked up at the Dark Lord Voldemort but, Voldemort continued to stare forward, his crimson eyes boring into the Prince of Alfheim and his Adored Ones.

“What is there to negotiate? I have laid my terms, beast,” Harry Wildfyre said, his words soft.

“Do not call him that,” Cho snapped before she flinched back. The Fairest turned his green eyes onto her, his lips twitching into a slow smile of intrigue.

“No?” Harry Wildfyre asked.

“No,” Cho said, firmly.

Harry Wildfyre leaned back in his throne. “Very well, Cho of Alfheim,” he said. “Then...why are you here?”

“Because I need your help and you need mine,” Cedric said.

Harry snorted. “Did you see the dragon flying overhead when you arrived on Westeron?” Harry Wildfyre asked. How could they have not? They still heard the beast’s great shrieks. “And did you see the creatures? All of whom are sworn to _me_ and me alone. They call me Wyrdfod. Do you know what that means?”

“No, your Grace,” Cedric said, stiffly.

“It means ‘Fateborn’,” the Fairest declared.

And Cho didn’t know what that meant but, she knew it meant something. She saw it in the way Firenze shuddered at the word, his eyes closed in delight. The way the Dark Lord and the pink-haired woman watched him.

The Fairest smiled, and it was so beautiful. Cho felt a flash of hate.

“What do you want then, in exchange, for your men?” the Fairest asked.

Cho was silent. She glanced at Cedric but, he looked thoughtful, watching the Fairest with a look that Cho didn’t like. It was considering and dangerous and he was going to do something reckless. Cho _knew_ her husband. He was always reckless, when it came to her, when it came to his people.

“Your Grace,” Cho began, immediately, staring at the beautiful, beautiful man. The Fairest. “After assessing your numbers, we’d like to privately discuss this transaction at a later date. After we’ve spent some time here. After all, this is a war and though you are the rightful Heir, if you do not win, we will not damn our country. Not for you. Not when we don’t know you.”

And finally, the Fairest looked like something other than beautiful. He looked...in awe, his lips curling into a wide smile. He looked human.

“Of course. You’re my guests. This was rather...forceful of me, I think. Tonks, my Lady of Whispers, will have you escorted to your rooms,” the Fairest said. The pink-haired woman stepped forward and nodded at them. “Do treat her with respect. She is the daughter of the Lady of this fortress.”

“Andromeda Slytherin?” Cedric gasped.

The Fairest winked and Anthony made a noise at the back of his throat.

“Aye. Nymphadora Tonks, Lady of House Slytherin at your service,” the pink-haired woman drawled.

Susan frowned. “Your Grace, what about our weapons?”

“Were they taken?” the Fairest asked with a frown.

“We thought it prudent—” one of the witnesses began.

The Fairest stood, and suddenly, the lioness at his feet no longer looked lazy. She looked on edge, catching the older man in her gaze. The Fairest looked at the man—a man with one normal pale eye and the other large and bulging, a strange magical blue that stared deep into the Alfheimeans’ cores.

“You do not think. _I_ think,” the Fairest said, coldly. He turned back to the Alfheimeans. “You will get back all your steel. You are not my prisoners.”

“Aren’t you worried that we could...hurt you?” Anthony asked.

The Fairest laughed, warmer then. “Hurt me? My Lord, would you allow such a thing?” he asked, rolling his gaze onto the Dark Lord who had not spoken the entire time that Cho and the others had been there.

“No, your Grace. I don’t think they’d get within ten meters of you,” Voldemort smiled.

The Fairest smiled, wider. “Well, then, there’s your answer. Now, I look forward to breaking bread with you tonight.”

And the Fairest looked towards the Dark Lord for a moment before he let out a tiny sign that his lioness at his heel as he exited. The Dark Lord followed, at his shoulder, already whispering quietly in his ear. Cho watched the others, all with the phoenix symbol on the chest, follow him, silent and ever watchful, until only the pink-haired woman was left.

Tonks had a charming smile, the kind that drew men in. And, despite the oddity of her hair, she looked like a Slytherin, wild-eyed and self-assured to the point of arrogance. Cho didn’t like her either.

“Well, then,” Tonks said. “I’ll show you to your rooms."

* * *

**ON**

* * *

 

She curled into herself on the floor, muscles aching, her blind eyes sore. She struggled to get up again, coughing and collapsed to the ground again when Deyanira’s staff cracked across her shoulder blades, knocking the strength air out of her weakened body.

“Get. Up,” Deyanira barked.

Gabrielle struggled to her feet. She no longer cried out for Fenrir. He was there, she knew. He was always there, making sure it didn’t go too far. It was too late for that now. Even though he tended to her wounds, when they were done for the day, Gabrielle felt resentment fester low in her belly for what he allowed his subordinate to do to her. This didn’t feel like training.

It felt like torture.

“I’m up,” Gabrielle rasped. Her throat was on fire and she was so thirsty, her lips were cracked and bloody, not only from punches to the face.

“A girl has no name. Do you have a name?” Deyanira asked.

Gabrielle hesitated for only a second, attempting to catch her breath. “No—” she got out before Deyanira whipped across the jaw with the end of her staff.

Another tooth cracked, falling out of her mouth.

“ _Accio_ ,” Fenrir murmured, Summoning the tooth.

He would reattach it later, as he was prone to do.

Gabrielle ran her tongue across the jagged edge and tasted blood. All she ever tasted was blood now. Gabrielle missed the taste of mead and the warmth of bread. Now all she had were a mouth of broken teeth and blood. Fenrir would wrap her wounds, dress her scars, but still, she'd remember the way the teeth cracked in her mouth and the way she cut her tongue open on the edges. Rage.

“A girl has no name,” Gabrielle snarled.

Deyanira scoffed as she spun, aimed to fight.

Gabrielle had been fighting for so long. She had been wandering in darkness, blind for _weeks_. It felt like centuries. Millennia. And the dark was such a lonely place to be. She swept for her sister. She wept for herself. She wept for the child she had been, before she had married Fenrir and begged to learn. She had wanted to _learn._

Learn, she would. Learned, she had.

Learned what it meant to be stripped of personhood, of all identity, until you were nothing but the animal that the wizards and Muggles said that she was. She wasn’t a person. She didn’t love mead or fresh bread or pretty dresses or Albion culture. No. The people of Laug saw a Veela.

A creature.

An _animal._

And suddenly, it did not matter that Gabrielle could not see. It did not matter that all Gabrielle knew was sword in her hand. The only thing that mattered was that she could _feel_ Deyanira. She could feel the beating of her heart, could nearly taste the odd copper of her blood, she could almost breathe the same air as her.

“Who are you?” Deyanira snarled from Gabrielle’s right.

Slowly, a girl turned, following the beating of Deyanira’s heart, the vibrations of her steps.

“No One,” a girl said, her voice cold.

“Is that true?” Deyanira taunted. “Gabrielle Delacour wanted to _kill_ me for taking her eyes. Gabrielle Greyback threatened me, screamed, and cried for _weeks_ for her eyes. Who are you?”

Deyanira spun into action before a girl could answer. A girl lifted her sword in a fierce block as she heard the whistle of Deyanira's staff through the air. She could feel the sharp intake of breath as Deyanira gasped. A girl imagined Deyanira's wicked dark eyes widened in shock. A girl knew that Fenrir had frozen in the doorway.

“A girl has no name,” she said, warningly.

Deyanira snarled and spun, knocking a girl back. They began to spar, staff colliding with steel over and over again. A girl followed the whistles of the staff through the air, twisting and turning to avoid each heavy blow. A girl knew that Deyanira would not pull her punches now, if she ever had been. The woman was _angry_. A girl smiled. An angry Deyanira meant a sloppy Deyanira.

Deyanira caught her in the side with a slam of her staff and a punch in the head. A girl didn’t let the hits disorient her, rolling with it so that she could keep her equilibrium. Instead, she focused all of her attention and pain on remembering the way Deyanira moved, the way Deyanira breathed.

A girl threw herself forward, twisting her hand around the staff and jerking it out so that she stepped into Deyanira’s personal space. Before Deyanira could headbutt her, a girl twisted her sword and punched Deyanira in the mouth with the pommel. A girl could feel the blood smear against her fingers, along her steel and she threw her knee up, catching Deyanira in the stomach. A girl wouldn’t give the woman time to recover. A girl wrenched the staff from Deyanira’s strong grip and she spun, cracking the staff across the back of Deyanira’s head.

She heard Deyanira’s knees crack against the ground. She threw the staff as hard as she could.

A girl pulled her wand, holding it to Deyanira’s temple while she pressed the edge of her steel to the woman’s throat.

“Finally a girl is no one,” Deyanira garbled.

And a girl shook her head.

“A girl is Gabrielle Delacour, daughter of Apolline and Louis Delacour, and you will give me my eyes back,” she rasped.

Gabrielle tasted the blood on her tongue. She felt the ache in her bones. A few of her ribs were cracked, she had bitten her tongue so deep it would scar and she was cure that Deyanira had nearly cracked her head open but, she was not no one. She was _Gabrielle Delacour._

“Why do you deserve them back?” Deyanira snarled, choking around bile and blood.

And Gabrielle didn’t know where the rage inside her came from. She did not know why she wanted to hiss and wail. She didn’t know why she couldn’t slit this woman’s throat _open_ and let her bleed out.

“Because what do _you_ say to the Stranger, Death?” Gabrielle snarled. She pressed the blade deeper, and she could feel flesh giving way. She heard Fenrir approach and she didn’t move. She let him cup her face and pull her head up.

“Not today,” he whispered against her lips. Gabrielle let him kiss her. She didn’t kiss back. He took a step back. “Enough, Deyanira. She is ready.”

And he shuffled awkwardly before pulling something forward. He pressed glass against Gabrielle’s lips and she tilted her head back, swallowing it without even thinking about it. She closed her eyes, refusing to remove the blade from Deyanira’s throat. The first thing she thought was how gentle his hands fell against her. She wished that she didn’t feel such rage. Such contempt.

“I love you, Fenrir,” Gabrielle said, softly. She still didn’t open her eyes.

She felt his breath hitch. “And I you, Miss Gabrielle.”

“But, I will never forget this betrayal and I will never forgive you,” Gabrielle whispered. Slowly, she opened her eyes and though, it was so bright, she was nearly blinded, she looked directly at him. She wanted him to be the first thing she would see. He looked different from how she remembered. He looked older and more animal. Had he always been so feral looking? “Betray me again, and I will kill you.”

Fenrir watched her, his eyes strangely cold. They regarded one another for a long time, neither moving, neither backing down. Gabrielle saw her husband for what he was, the way Fleur had seen him from the very beginning.

Fenrir was a predator.

But, he wasn’t the only one.

“You are far more powerful than I ever thought you would be,” Fenrir said.

“Explain.”

“I only wanted you to learn how to defend yourself. Nira saw potential that I did not. And you are...exquisite,” Fenrir said and he looked down at his second-in-command, still kneeling. Gabrielle followed his gaze.

Deyanira's head was bowed, her neck pressing against the steel. Gabrielle only needed to twitch to slice the woman's throat open.

“Will you kill me, Gabrielle Delacour?” Deyanira asked. And then she tipped her head back, pressing the back of her head against Gabrielle’s belly in a move that stunk of submission. “I am yours to kill.”

Gabrielle’s lips curled and she pulled her sword away from Deyanira’s throat and watched her. Slowly, Gabrielle turned back to her husband and watched him with careful eyes.

“Fenrir...you are a werewolf,” she said, blankly.

Fenrir only nodded. “How long have you know?” he asked.

And Gabrielle thought about that for a long time. She thought about the uneasiness that she had felt the first time she met him, the feral gleam in his eyes, the animal-like way he moved.

“Always,” she said.

“Okay. I am the Alpha of the Laug Republic pack. It is why I am involved in government. I keep the werewolves under control and we are not hunted,” Fenrir said, firmly, and that didn’t explain Fenrir’s past paramours or why he was so strict about not having Fleur or why he had allowed Deyanira to abuse him. But, it answered some things.

Gabrielle cleared her throat. “It’s the new moon. Werewolves run on the new moon.”

“Sometimes,” Fenrir allowed.

“ _You_ run on the full and new moon,” Gabrielle corrected. “I’m coming with you.”

“Alpha,” Deyanira started, still on her knees. “She can’t—”

Fenrir held up a finger to silence her. “We won’t be changed. Why do you want to come?”

“I am not no one,” Gabrielle said. “I am Gabrielle Delacour, your wife, the girl who runs with wolves.”

* * *

**THE**

* * *

 

Dinner was… _awkward._ To say the least. Cedric sat at the end of the long table, Cho to his right and the Adored Ones scattered along the table. On Cedric’s left was Anthony and next to him was Madame McGonagall, the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. Cedric looked up from his meal at the Fairest. He was laughing, softly, his lips pulled into a small smile as Tonks whispered in his ear. The Fairest reached down, holding out a piece of meat for the _lioness_ that lurked under the table.

The Dark Lord sat on the Fairest’s other side, his meal sitting untouched.

“How do you like the food, your Highness?” the Fairest asked, finally looking up.

Nearly everyone at the table turned to look at Cedric. Cedric swallowed and lifted his spoon, tasting the overspiced soup again. He forced a smile.

“It’s well-seasoned, your Grace,” Cedric called.

“Harry,” the Fairest corrected.

Cedric nearly dropped his spoon. “I’m sorry?”

“No one calls me ‘your Grace’ outside of formal functions. And we’ve already met. We’re informal, now. You call me Harry,” the Fairest—no, Harry—said and Cedric nodded, weakly. “And I mean all of you. Your lady wife and your Adored Ones, as well.”

Cedric cleared his throat. “Okay, Harry. And you call me Cedric, then.”

Harry smiled, brightly, and Anthony choked again. Cho looked up at her friend but Anthony looked like he’d been punched in the face.

“What is it?” Cho whispered.

“He’s...well, fuck, look at ‘im,” Anthony said with a tilt of his head.

McGonagall’s lips twitched and Anthony flushed when he realized she’d heard him.

“No reason to be embarrassed. He is beautiful. He’s aware of it,” McGonagall said. She leaned forward, taking a calm sip of her wine. “How couldn’t he be?”

“It’s a wonder that he hasn’t a lover,” Cho said.

There was a bark of laughter. Cho looked at the woman next to her. Lady Andromeda’s eyes were wide with mischief.

“Who says he hasn’t one?” Andromeda challenged with a grin. She looked down the table. “Brother, dear, I’ve noticed your room has been unused. Is it not to your tastes?”

Harry paused in his conversation. He didn’t look at Andromeda but his cheeks flushed slightly and he hastily took a sip of wine before carefully setting his goblet down. He continued speaking quietly to Bill Weasley and Tonks, his voice too soft for Cho or Cedric to hear. Voldemort tore his gaze away from the King to sneer at his sister.

“Fuck off, Andromeda,” the Dark Lord barked.

Cedric flinched. He’d never heard the Dark Lord speak and the first words he’d heard was ‘fuck off’. How...unexpected.

Andromeda trembled with suppressed laughter. She looked back at Cedric and Cho and in that moment, Cedric saw how much she resembled the Dark Lord and her own daughter.

“My brother is a callous, terrible man but, the King sees a use for him,” Andromeda sighed.

“Mother, kindly, resist,” Tonks called without looking away from Harry. “We don’t want blood on the freshly washed stone. Especially in front of guests.”

Andromeda opened her mouth but, Harry straightened, clapping his hands. He cleared his throat, a tight smile on his face.

“I’ve been rude,” Harry said, shortly. “You haven’t been introduced. Well, you’ve met Tonks. My Lady of Whispers. This is William Weasley, Lord of House Prewett, my Lord of the Coin.”

Bill Weasley raised his hand in awkward greeting. “Uh, hello.”

Cedric nodded, weakly.

“His sister, Ginevra Weasley, Commander of the Archers.” An annoyed looking redheaded woman with a mess of freckles clustered on her face. “Madame Minerva McGonagall, Commander of the Calvary.” She nodded, deep in her cups with ever-increasing lines on her face. “Kingsley Shacklebolt, Commander of the Infantry.” A handsome dark-skinned man with a strange smile.

“And you know my brother,” Andromeda interjected. “The Dark Lord.”

“Lord Chancellor Voldemort,” Harry said, primly, looking oddly stiff, his smile becoming more and more plastic.

Cedric sat silently until Cho stomped on his foot. Hard.

“You know my wife, Cho. This is Anthony—”

“I know who you all are,” Harry said. Cedric flinched back, eyes wide. “Anthony Goldstein. Susan Bones. Hannah Abbott. Ernie Macmillan. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Michael Corner. Terry Boot. Dean Thomas.”

He pointed to all of them, correctly. Susan’s eyes widened.

“How did you... _know_ that?” she said, her voice growing more hostile by the second.

Cho looked ready to bury herself in her hands. Cedric could _feel_ the diplomatic incident approaching.

“I...is that odd?” Harry asked. “I...the Dark Lord has very good records. I know... _everything_ about all of you. And I...apologize for calling you a beast, Cedric. It was rude.”

All of the Alfheimeans flinched.

“Harry…” Ginny hissed but, Harry ignored them, keeping his odd green eyes trained on Cedric.

“We don’t...talk about that,” Cho said, firmly.

Harry hummed. “Are you ashamed?” he asked.

Cedric flinched. Harry Wildfyre was strange, beautiful, and oddly perceptive. “I...this doesn’t seem like appropriate dinner conversation,” he said finally. It was what his father would have said, if he were there.

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologized again. “I didn’t mean to...nevermind.”

There was a long strained silence that was interrupted only by the clinking of forks against chinaware. Harry kept his eyes on his plates, his brow furrowed oddly as he seemed deep in thought. Cedric wondered what was happening in that pretty head. Even as he thought it, he felt a flash of guilt course through him and he looked at Cho from the corner of his eye. She looked oblivious, though still annoyed with Harry but, Cedric wasn’t fooled.

Cho always knew.

“Your Grace, if you don’t mind me asking but...you have a fair amount of young people on your council and characters that wouldn’t exactly _encourage_ trust between our countries. Could you clarify your choice?” Cho asked, suddenly, her eyes cutting and Cedric winced.

Cho was proper. She wouldn’t outright insult Harry Wildfyre but, she’d question him within an inch of his life. And still, even if the man took offense, she could cite the same reason as before—she wanted to ‘know’ him. Cedric nearly scoffed. It was recompense, a defense for Cedric’s honor that was wholly unnecessary.

“You mean to say why would he make the Dark Lord his Lord Chancellor?” Voldemort said and Cho winced. She hadn’t expected him to respond directly. “The man that murdered thousands, including his mother and father.”

“Yes,” Cedric inserted, grabbing Cho’s hand under the table. She squeezed back in thanks for his solidarity. “My father wasn’t your biggest fan, my Lord, and neither is the General of my army. Madame Amelia Bones.”

“Madame Bones isn’t a fan of me because the last time we met, I nearly killed her,” Voldemort said, matter of factly. He ignored Susan’s soft snarl. “But, that’s no fault of mine. She challenged me when she had no place to do so, and I don’t see why this line of questioning should be entertained.”

The King still hadn’t spoken, seemingly mulling over the words. Finally, he spoke. “Because Ginny Weasley never misses, and Kingsley Shacklebolt is wise beyond my years. Bill Weasley knows how to count far more than me, and Madame McGonagall has spilled blood in my name. And Tonks was a whore so she knows the secrets of whores. And Voldemort makes king, and I have been made, and he was there when the boy was killed, and the man was born.”

He spoke it so matter of factly, as if he didn’t know how mad he sounded. Tonks snorted into her meal but, didn’t say anything.

Cedric glanced over at Cho, whose face was screwed into an expression of distaste. He looked over at Anthony, who looked absolutely _fascinated_.

They finished their meals in silence.

* * *

**WALL**

* * *

 

“What do you think of him?” Cho asked.

Cedric looked around the room, all of the Adored Ones waiting for his answer.

“Who?” he asked, nervously.

Cho scoffed. “Really, Cedric?”

“He’s beautiful,” Anthony interjected. “Fairest of Them All. That certainly wasn’t exaggerated. And he’s got a dragon and the Dark Lord.”

Susan snorted. “The Dark Lord...in his bed. If the Lady Warden’s implications are to be heeded,” Susan warned and Anthony scoffed at her. “I’m just saying...I doubt that the Dark Lord shares and I would hate to see you dead.”

“I can—”

“Don’t even joke,” Justin interjected. “You can’t beat Susan, who can’t beat Amelia, who can’t beat the Dark Lord. He’d kill you in a second flat. Remember what he said? Not even ten meters. The Fairest of Them All, indeed.”

Hannah looked up from where she was mixing her healing salves, her eyes wide and waiting.

“Cedric...what do you think?”

"I think...that he's got a good heart. I think," Cedric added as an afterthought.

Cho wrinkled her nose “He’s strange. A bit awkward. He was trying so hard for us to like him. He was callous breaking up the...hairy thing at dinner. And he threatened you, Cedric. He’s dangerous. But, we have to...we have to consider helping him. For Alfheim.”

"I'm not putting our soldiers in danger until I'm sure of him," Cedric said, warningly. "I'll play politics but, not that much. Not until I know we aren't fighting for just another Dark Lord in the making."

“He has all of these creatures loyal to him. The way Firenze, the centaur, spoke about him doesn’t make him sound like a Slytherin. If you’d remember, Draco is a Slytherin, no matter _who_ his father is,” Dean said, pointedly. He was always the one that spoke logic and it had Justin and Ernie nodding in agreement.

Anthony and Hannah still looked unsure but, Cho and Susan would be stubborn in their vehement dislike of the King.

“I heard he freed them all,” Hannah said, full of uncertainty. She twitched when everyone turned to stare at her and she pressed closer into Susan’s side, basking in the other woman’s warmth. “At least...before dinner, I went into the city to look for supplies. For salves. And I spoke to the woman at the apothecary. The woman said that he freed all of the creatures. Draco Slytherin was enslaving them. He wanted to use them in his armies but, he freed them.”

Cedric considered that and he understood why the creatures were staunch in their loyalty to the man.

“So, they just bind themselves to another master?” Susan snorted.

“Loyalty is won by kindness and I think he’s a kind man with a good heart,” Hannah insisted, softly, even as everyone stared at her, bewildered.

“Kind? We don’t even know him,” Anthony pointed out. Hannah winced at his irritation and Susan turned to her lover, grabbing her by the shoulders and looked her firmly in the eye.

“Albion can’t take another Slytherin. _The world_ can’t take another Slytherin,” Susan murmured.

There was a long painful silence. Dinner with three Slytherins had been odd, to say the least. It had been threatening at the most. Andromeda Slytherin had been snide to her brother, almost like Susan would act towards Anthony or Justin, or even Dean, but, Susan didn't radiate the same power that Andromeda did. Andromeda looked at them as if she knew their every thought, and it reminded him of what Amelia had called the woman, but hadn't explained. Andromeda Empath.

“He’s not like me and mine.”

The Adored Ones were alert immediately. Even Hannah pulled a knife and wand, pointing them both at Nymphadora Tonks. The pink-haired woman looked far more relaxed than when she had first met them, regarding them like bugs to be smashed beneath her foot.

Cedric could tell this woman was powerful but, she wouldn’t win easily against them, if at all. She seemed to recognize that.

“You and yours? How did you get in here?” Ernie demanded. “Dean and I warded this place so much, you shouldn’t be able to come in here if you aren’t Alfheimean.”

Tonks raised an eyebrow. “I am the Lady of Whispers by my own merit.”

“I thought it was because you were a whore and knew the secrets of whores,” Cho said, repeating Harry’s words and to her merit, Tonks smiled, laughing softly. She looked at them all as if they were nothing but children. Cedric hadn’t been made to feel like a child in a long time.

“I was a whore. I slept with men and women for their secrets. I furthered the cause more than almost anyone,” Tonks said, firmly.

“A whore is a whore,” Justin said casually.

Tonks’ eyes flashed. “I dare you to say that to my King and hear his response. He doesn’t take kindly to the word.”

“Why?” Cho asked. “He’s a hypocrite, then? He called you a ‘whore’.”

“He believes only those that have been called such a terrible thing should have the right to say it,” Tonks retorted. “And my King has been called far more _debased_ things than just whore.”

Cedric was silent for a long moment, watching the woman who so fiercely defended her King.

“Did he really free all of those creatures?” Cedric asked, finally.

“He did. He was willing to give Freia up for them. Because the idea of someone in chains makes him weep. The idea of someone enslaved makes his weak. And they don’t follow him out of gratitude or misplaced loyalty either,” Tonks said, sharply. “They follow him because he is _worthy._ ”

“Worthy?” Cedric repeated, mulling the word over in his head. He ignored Cho’s careful stare as she tried to figure out what was in his head. He wanted to shake her. The woman was always so _damn_ suspicious after what that tow-headed witch had done to him.

Tonks nodded, firmly. “And you will find him worthy too.”

* * *

**WHO**

* * *

"Fuck, I fucked up that up!" Harry said softly, pacing up and down his room, his face buried in his hands. He ignored the Dark Lord and Tonks as he worried himself into a frenzy. He looked up at them, wide-eyed. "Tell me how bad it was. How _terrible_ it was.”

Tonks hesitated.

“You were...being _weird_ , Harry. I don’t know what else to tell you. It was just _weird_ ,” Tonks said, earnestly.

Harry groaned and began his pacing again. “They _hate_ me. I was trying...I was trying to make them like me. I’ve never had to worry about people liking me. They just...kinda do. Unless they were my aunt who just hates me on principle.”

“That Muggle bitch isn’t your aunt. Don’t claim her,” Tom drawled.

Harry huffed, ignoring the man’s words.

"I know, Harry. But, to others, you aren't just our Harry. They haven't seen how you were before," Tonks sighed. "All they see is a man. A beautiful man. With a dragon. With the Dark Lord. With the loyalty of all these creatures. You are strange and foreign and too powerful to trifle with. I underestimated how intimidating you would be. But, they'll learn better. I've already warned them—"

“Warned them?” Harry squeaked. “What did you _do_?”

“My job as your Lady of Whispers,” Tonks snapped. Harry watched her carefully and Tonks’ eyes softened. “They will find you worthy. As we did. They will see past your terrifying beauty and beneath how amazing you are. They will see that you have a _good_ heart.”

"Do I?" Harry whispered as he grabbed at his book and settled on the couch, curling into Tom's side, basking in his warmth. He winced when he felt a hard grip on his chin and Tom tilted his head up to stare into his eyes.

“ _Never_ doubt that you have a good heart. This may have been your birthright but you have _earned_ the trust of these people through no power but your own. You have put your faith in a faithless man. You have freed a people. You have gained the respect of your elders. And you have a terribly good heart,” Tom said firmly, speaking to him as if they were the only two in the room.

Tonks watched them and saw how easy it would be for Harry to fall in love with this man. She slowly stood and she couldn’t help her tired smile when Harry didn’t even look away from the man. Instead, she slipped from the room, intent on seeing her son before she put him to bed and perhaps to speak with Remus.

Harry’s cheeks flushed pink and he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Tom’s lips, chaste and warm before he pulled back and plucked his well-read book, about Alfheim history, up from the side table. He kicked off his pants—though he didn’t remove his over robe—and crossed to the bed and leaned back against the headboard, his eyes scanning over words he’d read nearly four times. Tom regarded him for a long moment before he stood and joined him, kneeling at the end of the bed.

Harry laughed softly when Tom slowly began to unbutton his robes from the bottom up. He opened it just to his chest before he leaned down again.

“W-what are you doing?” Harry laughed as Tom lifted his bare leg up onto his shoulder. Tom turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just above Harry’s ankle.

“Tasting you,” Tom groaned. “There’s so much I want to do to you.”

“Well, I’m working,” Harry said softly, his voice cracking as Tom kissed up his leg, nipping and teasing at the skin of his calf. He lightly kicked Tom in the side but, the Dark Lord paid him no mind. “I need to know more about the Alfheimeans. They don’t...like me. They think I am cold. That I am vain. That I am arrogant. I’m not. I just...I’ve never had to work to get people to like me. Either they like me too much or they hate me. And these people...Tom, I _need_ them to like me.”

“Because your beauty intimidates their Princess and your power intimidates their Prince and his warriors. You are the Fairest,” Tom murmured against the skin of his thighs and Harry gasped, choking on a quiet giggle as Tom yanked him forward by his legs, spreading them wide.

“I can’t, Tom. I’m…” Harry flushed, looking away under Tom’s delighted stare. “I’m sore.”

Tom smirked and didn’t say anything as he kissed Harry’s thighs, sucking bruises into the soft, pale skin. Harry gasped, his book falling from his hand, a page wrinkling from his rough treatment. Harry’s head fell back as Tom dragged his tongue up the soft skin, brushing and nipping at Harry’s balls.

“T-Tom…” Harry gasped. He choked when Tom drew his tongue lower and he felt the roughness of Tom’s tongue against his sensitive hole. “Tom...you shouldn’t— _Tom._ ”

Tom turned his face into the crease of Harry’s thigh and smirked as Harry moaned his name.

“Harry...do you remember what I said I wanted to do to you?” Tom asked, looking up at Harry with bright red eyes. Harry tossed an arm over his eyes, his cheeks flushing pink.

“Yes…” Harry choked out.

Tom smirked and leaned down again.

Harry gasped, softly as he felt Tom’s tongue, drag under his balls, brushing across his hole. His thighs tightened around Tom’s ears as a soft moan escaped his mouth. Harry bit his lower lip, trying to stifle the noises as Tom tasted him. He gasped when he felt Tom’s tongue thrust inside of his hole and he clenched down, whimpering softly. Tom laughed again and Harry lost himself to the feeling of Tom’s tongue lapping against his hole, thrusting in and out of him, a steady movement.

Harry tried not to squirm but he pushed against Tom’s tongue, chasing the feeling of it. He’d never felt anything like that before. It was overwhelming. It made him feel worshipped and vulnerable. It made him...it made him...

“Fuck...I’m going to cum... _fuck_ ,” Harry gasped.

Tom nodded and reached one hand up, wrapping it around Harry’s cock. Harry keened in the back of his throat as Tom applied just the right pressure, pressing his tongue flat against Harry’s hole and flicked his wrist just the right way. Harry let out a yelp as he came, jets of seed splashing across his abdomen, dribbling down his cock onto Tom’s fingers.

Harry lazily looked up at the man still out of breath. He watched as Tom inspected his fingers, that same non-expression on his face before his tongue darted out, tasting Harry’s seed. Harry moaned, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“Please, _don’t_ make me hard again. I’m so, so tired,” Harry whined.

Tom snorted as he wiped his hand on the bedsheet. “It’s not my fault you’re lacking in stamina. Also, you taste exquisite. As I knew you would.”

“Fuck you, asshole. Get me a towel. I don’t want to wake up to dried cum gluing me to my sheets,” Harry said, snarkily, his cheeks flushing red.

Tom snorted again, rolling his eyes. “Yes, your Grace.”

“ _Fuck_ you.”

“You’re the one that said you were tired,” Tom reminded him.

Harry growled. “Fuck...you know what, please just do as I asked.”

* * *

**IS**

* * *

 

Gabrielle watched herself in the mirror, touching her face and her skin, in awe of what she was seeing. It had been weeks since she had last seen her face, and a week or so still since she had gotten her vision back. But, still, she couldn't get over watching herself in the mirror, inspecting the differences that had jumped at her.

She looked older.

Her 16th birthday was quickly approaching.

Her hair glowed silver and her eyes were paler though she wasn’t sure if that was due to her blinding or due to the fact that she was nearly a Veela, as her sister was. Once upon a time, Gabrielle would’ve been made to put on the veil to protect herself. Now, Gabrielle could protect herself with steel. Perhaps her magical education was lacking but, that was something she could do on her own now that she had her eyes.

Her eyes.

Gabrielle stood, looking at her chest, bared slightly her robe. There were scars there. Old bruises were fading but Deyanira had beaten her day in and day out for months, placing new bruises on top of old bruises. Of course, they would scar. Gabrielle used to be proud of them. Now, she wasn’t sure what she felt.

“The full moon approaches. You can’t run with us.”

Gabrielle looked at Fenrir through the reflection. Slowly, she pulled her robe closed and turned to look at him. His eyes were soft, like they were when they first got married. It was as if he had forgotten her words the day she had gotten her sight back.

Gabrielle hadn’t.

“I know. When will you back?” Gabrielle asked as she walked up to him. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. She could feel his fangs brush against her skin. He always let the wolf out more when it was close to the full moon.

Gabrielle had pretended not to notice before. But, that wasn’t an option anymore.

“We have a few new turns. It’ll be hard to get them to recover. I’ll be gone a week, at most,” Fenrir said, firmly. Gabrielle nodded and she tugged him out of her room.

Her room. She only slept in his bed now.

She tugged him to the study, where they took their breakfast. Gabrielle only went to the ballroom to train. When she went in there, hunger and thirst went away. Everything went away except for the violence thrumming in her veins and the rage. So much rage.

Gabrielle pushed it away, compartmentalizing. She looked down at the spread and smiled.

Warm bread. Fresh, unsalted butter. Apples from Albion. He was trying. So, he hadn’t forgotten how upset that she still was.

Good. He should _never_ forget.

“Come break fast with me first,” Gabrielle insisted and she tugged him down, pressing a warm kiss to her lips before she pushed him into the chair and she sat on his lap, curling up against his warmth. He was even warmer near the full moon, practically a fireplace.

"Apples," he said, holding one up in offering. Gabrielle guided his hand to her lips and she took a bite of the crisp, crunchy fruit. She smiled, allowing the juices to roll down her chin. He lapped it once and gave her a peck as she swallowed.

“I love apples,” she murmured.

“I know,” he whispered.

They ate, in near silence, only breaking the silence once in a while. Gabrielle closed her eyes as she ate. She could taste the oiliness of the butter, the warmth of the bread. The copper taste of blood remained on the back of her tongue. Blood and ash.

She wondered if this was what Death tasted like.

She didn’t ask Fenrir out loud. Instead, Gabrielle gorged, tasting and attempting not to think about the blood. She tried not to think about the welts on her back that she could not reach and didn’t want to Fenrir to touch. She didn’t think about the fact that she and Fenrir hadn’t fucked since she lost her sight. Except, she did.

“When you get back, I’m going to ride your cock so hard, I might break it,” Gabrielle said, softly.

Fenrir twitched under her, his lips pulled into a feral grin. “Why not before I leave?”

“Go run with your wolves, Alpha,” Gabrielle said, loftily, pulling out of his hands before he could think to grab her. Fenrir threw back his head and let out growling laugh.

“You are quicker now, Miss Gabrielle,” Fenrir said.

“I’ve always been quick, Mister Greyback,” Gabrielle teased and she grabbed the last roll of bread just as Fenrir began to reach for it. She winked and nibbled at it as she walked away from him, feeling his eyes on her back.

Fenrir stood and followed her. Gabrielle walked towards the foyer, where she knew she was. She walked down the stairs, standing on the landing and watched Deyanira. Deyanira stood there, without staff, dressed in the thinnest robes Gabrielle had ever seen. Gabrielle supposed they made sense. Deyanira would only strip out of them anyway, when they ran.

“Gabrielle,” Deyanira said and slowly she tilted her head, exposing her neck.

Gabrielle only nodded and turned away from her, looking up at Fenrir.

“I’ll see you in a week, my love,” Gabrielle said.

Fenrir nodded, staring down at her, seriously. “Do you have the keys, Gabrielle?” Fenrir asked.

“In my bedside table,” Gabrielle said.

“Remember. Don’t go into the room in my study,” he reminded her as he reminded her every time.

And Gabrielle smiled demurely, as she did every time. “I won’t. I promise.”

Fenrir nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he loped down the stairs and grabbed Deyanira by the neck, squeezing once. He was out of the door in the next second. Deyanira hesitated at the door, watching Gabrielle.

“Who am I?” Gabrielle asked.

And Deyanira opened her mouth as if to say something. “The others...the others were not like you, Gabrielle Delacour.”

“What were they like?” Gabrielle asked.

“Not like you. You are...marked,” Deyanira said.  She shook her head and disappeared through the door, leaving Gabrielle all alone.

Gabrielle rolled her shoulders back and looked at the door, coldly.

It was time for her to learn how to cast the Unforgiveables.

* * *

**FAIREST**

* * *

 

Cedric watched, gasping for air as he watched the Fairest.

Harry was wielding _fire_ without a wand in sight. He seemed to spin and move as the flames twisted around him and the great beast next to him breathed flames in tandem, manipulating it just as he did. They looked utterly in sync, as if they were no difference between them in mind or heart. It was a mesmerizing sight that took Cedric’s breath away.

Cedric took a shaky step forward, and suddenly, the dragon—Freia—snapped out of concentration, spinning bright yellows on him. She screeched in rage, her long head swiveling towards him immediately. She curled her long spiked tail around Harry, her wings widening to increase her size. Cedric took a shaky step back but, he refused to scream.

“Don’t make any sudden moves.”

Cedric flinched at the soft words and he glanced over his shoulder. The Dark Lord was watching them curiously. His hands were clasped behind his back and even though he appeared non-threatening, Freia screeched at him anyway, hot spittle flying from her mouth onto their skin.

“Doesn’t she...she doesn’t like you either, does she?” Cedric rasped.

The Dark Lord’s lips twitched. “She doesn’t like anyone but her Master.”

Cedric looked to Harry for help but, the King only stared at Freia. Cedric took a trembling step forward, reaching his hand out. Harry’s eyes widened in interest as Cedric gathered his courage and pushed down the fear. He swallowed back the bile and stopped his shaking and reached forward even more.

Even still a few inches away, he could feel the heat of her body. Cedric closed his eyes and reached farther, his neck straining.

“Your Highness!”

Cedric could hear Susan’s warning but, he ignored it, reaching out farther and then his hands connected with soft scales. They were softer than he thought they would be.

Slowly, Cedric opened his eyes and stared into Freia’s.

“Oh…” he whispered.

Harry’s eyes were wide with shock and he slowly stepped out of the coil Freia had made with her body, moving alongside her flank and her side, brushing his fingers across her scares, whispering softly to her.

“Go,” Harry called.

Freia screeched and then with the heavy beating of her wings took off, sending a harsh wind across them all. Cedric flinched but, Harry was still, so used to it. Harry’s eyes followed Freia, his lips pulling into a soft smile.

“Well…” Cedric said, his voice cracking.

Harry’s smile grew wider. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

“That wasn’t the word I was going to use,” Cedric admitted. Harry’s smile fell sharply. The Dark Lord snorted, turning away in amusement. For some reason, Cedric’s cheek turned pink with chagrin. “But, yes. Gorgeous beast.”

“She’s not a beast,” Harry said, firmly. Cedric frowned at him. “I...I birthed her out of my own fire, you know. The fire you saw. She’s... _mine_. She’s not a beast. No matter how terrible she gets. No matter how big. No matter how many people she terrifies. She’s mine.”

Cedric hesitated.

“You must understand how you sound,” Cedric said, earnestly.

“How do I sound?” Harry asked, patiently.

Cedric frowned, figuring how to phrase it without offending the man. He looked at the Dark Lord but, the man was carefully watching Cedric’s Adored Ones, keeping them far with just a look.

“I don’t...is the Dark Lord’s presence necessary?” Cedric sighed.

Harry twitched at the question, as if he’d never been asked such a thing.

“I...my Lord—” Harry began.

“No, your Grace,” Voldemort said, immediately.

Harry huffed, shaking his head. “ _Tom_ ,” he barked.

"Harry," Voldemort retorted, just as annoyed. Cedric watched, entranced as the two watched each other, as if measuring their stubbornness against one another. Finally, Voldemort rolled his eyes and walked away, his eyes trained on Tonks as she trained with one of the redheads—Ron, Cedric thought. That one was always in McGonagall's shadow.

Cedric regarded Harry and pointed. “That...that’s…”

“I don’t understand you, Cedric of Alfheim,” Harry said, softly, and he looked off to the cliffs, at the crashing waves, his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t understand _you_ ,” Cedric retorted. “You don’t know how you sound. How you look. How you _appear_ to my people.”

Harry let out a hard laugh. “Oh, I know. I’m beautiful.”

Cedric scoffed. “That’s not what I mean. Yes, you’re beautiful. But, to my people, you’re _terrifying_.”

Harry finally looked at him, a bright gleam in his green eyes.

“That’s what I said,” he challenged, his voice low.

“You are terrifying, Harry Wildfyre. You are powerful, beautiful, and terrifying. I come here and the first thing I see is your army. An army of creatures that have sworn themselves to you and you alone. The second thing I see is your dragon. And then, I see three tamed Slytherins. And finally, I see you. And you...you could be the savior of my country or its destroyer,” Cedric snapped angrily.

Harry regarded him. “I would never come to your country and take it from you.”

“That’s not the _point_. I’m sorry but, we’ve avoided this too long,” Cedric said, his non-apology hanging in the air between them. “My country is struggling economically. Due to my disposition, trade was closed and we survived on what we had. It wasn’t much. We’re attempting to open ports now but, allying with you will severely limit our resources until your war is done. I can’t do that when I can’t even get Gringotts to approve us for a loan. So, I need to _know_ that this is worth it.”

“It’s worth it,” Harry said, firmly. “My cause is worth it. These people are _worth_ it.”

Cedric raised his eyebrows and regarded the other man. “We’ll see.”

* * *

**OF**

* * *

“Their training is going well, your Grace,” Rodolphus Lestrange said as he walked with the King throughout the training grounds. “They were trained individually, in their own people’s arts, but we are allowing a well-rounded education.”

“Good,” Harry said, firmly, and he smiled up at Rodolphus. He appreciated that the man didn’t even look a little off-balanced. The same couldn’t be said to Rabastan who looked like he’d been hit over the head. “I’ve heard, through Firenze, that there are those that don’t wish to fight. What do they do.”

"They are far and few between, your Grace. They are mostly the elders. Each group of creatures has elected elders to stay behind. To conduct the rites for those that die," Rodolphus said.

Harry's heart sunk but, he couldn't fault the creatures. They were being pragmatic. Harry wasn't naive enough to believe that no one would die but, he'd like to pretend, just a little longer. The creatures didn't have that luxury. They had already seen some of their loved ones be murdered in the camps, and they hadn't been afforded rites before. He would gladly allow that.

“I...that’s good,” Harry said, firmly before he could lose his footing. “You will be returning to Hogwarts soon?”

“I...believe so,” Rabastan stammered. “We still have a few Death Eaters that my Lord deemed unnecessary as of yet. We don’t want to draw Narcissa’s eye. She has already noticed that he leaves too often, and the Dark Lord suspects that she is curious about Andromeda’s sudden departure.”

“We won’t be able to hide our residence here for much longer,” Harry muttered under his breath. He had hoped they would be able to but, the armies were becoming much too large, and the amount of magic concentrated was bound to be noticed by someone.

“There are options, your Grace,” Rodolphus said, firmly. “We will close the Western Bridge. Afallon is largely self-sufficient.”

“There are people here that don’t even know that I’m here. That don’t know the danger I put them in,” Harry muttered to himself and he didn’t notice Rodolphus and Rabastan exchange surprised looks behind his back.

He looked up, watching the centaurs spar, fighting with the sort of brutality that he embodied in battle. It made his blood roll for a fight though he knew that he could always train with Tom later.

“They’ll know soon enough, your Grace. We know the roles that we’ve played in the Slytherin regime, and we are not exactly...regretful but, we are not proud either. We know that these people will benefit from your presence and your rule,” Rabastan said, firmly. He leaned forward, staring at Harry, a curious look in his eyes.

“You have already helped the people of Godric’s Hollow,” Rodolphus added. Harry looked up at him, jerking. “We got your message. From Sally-Ann.”

“Oh...good. You never mentioned it, so I didn’t know if…” Harry hesitated, waving his hands as if to fill in what he was going to say. Rodolphus looked unimpressed but nodded.

“You’re a good man,” Rodolphus said and he stepped in front of Harry, blocking his view. He glanced at Rabastan who caught sight of whatever they didn’t want Harry to see. “Your mother would’ve done the same.”

“I forgot. You also knew my parents,” Harry said, softly.

“Not well,” Rodolphus said, firmly. “But, you show the same bravery that I knew of them. You defend the weak, fight for what’s right, and deliver justice to all those that deserve it.”

“I try,” Harry murmured.

Rodolphus hummed. “You do more than try. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t want you as my King. Now close your eyes.”

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes, trying to step around the Lestrange Lord. “What are you doing?”

Rabastan glanced over his shoulder and frowned as he caught sight of the Prince of Alfheim approaching. He shook his head once and the man came to a stop, his brow furrowed. Rabastan turned around, looking over Rodolphus’ shoulder again and then nodded.

“I am your King! You will move, Rodolphus Lestrange, or—” Harry shouted just as Rodolphus stepped to the side.

Cedric watched Harry freeze as the cake was brought to him, held unsteadily in the hands of a young child—maybe five years—with a shock of turquoise hair. He assumed the child was Tonks’, due to her penchant for odd hair colors.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” the child said, shyly.

Harry looked up, almost lost, untrusting if it was all for him. It struck Cedric as oddly childlike. He had never thought about the Fairest as a child. He had never thought about the fact that he must have been born and grown up. Cedric wondered if Harry had always been so beautiful or if he had grown into that beauty. He was even more unsure which was worse.

“Oh...it’s my birthday, isn’t it?” Harry asked, softly, slowly falling to his knees. He took the cake from the little boy’s hands and sniffed once before he passed it to Percy’s waiting hands. “Oh, come here, Teddy.”

Teddy grinned and threw his chubby arms around Harry’s neck. Harry held him back, his eyes wide and he shivered as he looked up at Tonks, Remus, the Weasleys, and Voldemort.

“It’s my birthday,” Harry repeated. “It feels like I’ve known all of you forever.”

“The day that summer died and was reborn,” Remus confirmed. He looked tired, and a little sad but, he continued on. “I remember it well. Every flame in Albion was snuffed out and came back twice as strong.”

Tonks laughed, softly. “To be honest...we forgot.”

“So did I,” Harry laughed as he slowly pulled away from Teddy, pulling the man into his side and he looked at Madame McGonagall. “Madame?”

“I remembered the cake. After I was reminded,” McGonagall admitted.

Harry froze and slowly he turned to look at Voldemort. The Dark Lord stared back at him, impassively, his lips twitching. A broken sound emerged from Harry’s lips and he twitched, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his body. He looked around and even Ron was nodding, grudgingly. And Cedric knew then because Harry launched himself forward, leaping at Voldemort, and wrapped his arms around him.

Harry pulled away, as if he suddenly remembered himself and he grinned as he looked at all of them. The creatures were watching, curious about the celebration of their Wyrdfod, wondering what the King would say. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fighting his grin and he nodded at all of them.

“I...thank you. So much. I’ve never...I’ve never gotten a birthday cake before,” Harry admitted, looking down at the grass and Ron gasped, his eyebrows high.

“Never?” he demanded.

Harry shook his head. “I...we didn’t celebrate my birthday. I...thank you,” he said, as if he still couldn’t believe it. He let out a quiet whoop and grabbed Teddy from the ground, holding him tight. The little boy giggled and squirmed but Harry only squeezed harder. Harry looked at the people that followed him—the people that loved him, Cedric realized—and let out a watery laugh. “Thank you. Cake, anyone?”

* * *

**THEM**

* * *

 

Daphne stared at the bowl of salt water, running her strange wand over the surface, reading the ripples and whispers that the sea had brought to her. Neville watched her with uncertainty as she gurgled and whispered. Daphne had always made him uncomfortable when she practiced unknown magic. It had always pleased their grandmother though, just as it pleased the woman now. Augusta looked grimly satisfied though she knew nothing of worth just yet.

She knew to expect only good things. Daphne always delivered good things, from the moment she had come to them.

“Sister, what do you hear?” Neville asked.

Daphne jerked as she sat up, her wand falling to the tabletop with a soft clatter and a half-hearted roll. She looked over at Neville, brushing her hands over her temple, smoothing down the flyaways. She dipped her hands in the salt water and took a deep breath, shuddering with pleasure as she disrupted whatever she had been doing.

“My sister has told me that my father is ill,” Daphne said.

She didn’t sound particularly sad about any of it.

“I apologize, ward-sister,” Neville said anyway.

Daphne shook her head. “It is better this way. Astoria will rule.”

“You give up your birthright so easily,” Augusta said with a snort. “You foolish girl.”

“My place is here with you,” Daphne retorted, staring at her grandmother with narrowed eyes. Augusta plucked up a sausage, popping it into her mouth. “I know that. I’ve always known that, Grandmother.”

Augusta snorted. “Even as a child?”

“Even then,” Daphne said, firmly. She looked around, though she knew that no one would interrupt. Augusta had warded it so well that she doubted that they could leave without her Grandmother taking the wards down. “A ship crossed the oceans. Alfheimeans.”

“Alfheimeans aren’t on their way to Hogwarts. We’d know that,” Neville said, firmly. “If they were allying with him, Draco would have bragged about it. Or the servants would talk.”

“They’re not allying with him,” Daphne said.

Augusta froze in the middle of her sip of tea. She slowly placed the teacup down. “Andromeda left to ally with the Gryffindor,” she murmured.

“Do you think they know?” Neville asked, immediately.

“Hermione knew nothing. She thinks that I’m the enemy, aiming to steal her place in Draco’s ‘heart’. I know that she was close to Andromeda,” Daphne said, firmly. She sighed, leaning back in her seat though she continued to rake her fingers through the saltwater.

“Ask her,” Augusta said, firmly.

Daphne snorted. “She already threatened me, Grandmother. She will not take well to me prying,” Daphne retorted, shaking her head. “But...I do think that Narcissa suspects. Narcissa suspects everything.”

“How will _we_ know if it’s true?” Neville asked.

“If it’s true, they’ll close off the Western Bridge soon. What else has your sister heard about the Gryffindor boy?” Augusta asked.

Daphne hummed, her brow furrowing. “She calls him...Wyrdfod. But, that can’t be true.”

“Wyrdfod? The lullaby,” Neville said, referring to the song that she always sang to the orphaned children in Arcadia, the song that she used to sing to him after his parents had been murdered and she wanted him to sleep.

“They think he’s the Wyrdfod. Astoria says that he has an army of thousands, and that the Alfheimeans that have come...it is the _Prince_ of Alfheim,” Daphne whispered, as if she were too afraid to speak it aloud. Augusta cursed her breath, shaking her head.

“I did not expect...I knew that he was a factor. After all, he took back Godric’s Hollow. But, he is powerful enough for a Slytherin to ally herself with. What else does she know of him?” Augusta asked.

But, Daphne's brow was furrowed as she parsed through the information she had heard. Neville watched her carefully as her lips shaped around words only she could understand. She jerked as if shocked and looked up again.

“She says...that he is the most beautiful creature she has ever seen and that he has something...a great lizard with wings. She does not know the word,” Daphne whispered.

“A dragon?” Neville gasped.

Augusta shook her head. “It couldn’t be. Dragons are extinct,” Augusta said with such finality but, Neville could see the uncertainty in her eyes.

“What is dead may never die,” Neville reminded her and Augusta looked suitably shaken. Good. She thought he was a fool, and maybe he was, but he wouldn’t let her become one too. Augusta was the mind. She had to stay sharp. “We must concern ourselves, first and foremost, with what happens in these walls. We are not safe here. Our safety is the primary concern.”

Daphne nodded in agreement and she finally pulled her hands free from the water. She grabbed her wand. “ _Evanesco._ ”

The water Vanished and Daphne cracked her knuckles and neck, humming to herself. She still looked uncertain but she nodded at Neville’s words.

“The King has requested to break his late fast with me. I must go,” Daphne said, standing up and smoothing her cloak.

“Let us see what you’re wearing,” Augusta said, firmly.

Daphne pulled apart her cloak, showing off the sea green gossamer cloth that wrapped around her body, hugging her close, showing every line of her thin frame. Her lips curled into a soft smile as she arched her neck, showing off the silver and emeralds around the pale column of flesh and bone. She closed her cloak and nodded.

“Acceptable?” Daphne asked.

“Quite. Go break the late fast,” Augusta said.

Daphne hesitated. “And Hermione? I do like her, Grandmother.”

Augusta raised her eyebrow, loftily. “She must learn about war sometime, dear child. Perhaps, it is time for her to learn that not all wars are fought in armor.”

* * *

 

**ALL?**

* * *

 

“Your Grace...Harry.”

Harry and his council jerked, looking up at the man and woman that stood in the doorway. Harry’s lips pulled into a soft smile as he looked at Cedric and Cho. He hadn’t seen Cedric at all, yesterday. Tonks had insisted that dinner on his birthday be private, only for him, Tonks, Teddy, and the Weasleys. Tom had elected not to join, citing allergies to redheads, and had fucked off somewhere with Severus, Lucius, and the Lestranges. He had returned to fuck Harry into oblivion, though.

“Cedric, is something wrong?” Harry asked, his smile falling somewhat at the thought.

“We’ve come to a decision,” Cho forced out, fighting to keep a pleasant smile on her face though Harry could see the stress at the corner of her eyes.

Harry stood, suddenly, his expression becoming serious. “Have you?” he asked, softly. “And your decision?”

"If we were to ally with you, would you support our endeavor for a loan with Gringotts?" Cho demanded to know. Harry nodded immediately.

“Absolutely. And Afallon will have exclusive trade with Alfheim until the war is done. Afallon is largely self-sufficient and overproduces,” Harry said, firmly and Cho nodded as if she liked the idea of it.

“You would be willing to sign a magical contract?” Cho asked.

“Yes. As long as your Prince signs it too,” Harry said and finally, they all turned to look at Cedric who looked just as hesitant as he had when he first landed on Afallon.

Cedric stepped forward, watching Harry carefully, as if he’d never seen him before. Harry winced under the close examination. Men didn’t look at him that way, like they were trying to see his insides, examine all of his faults and his sins. Only Tom had ever looked at him that way, too close, so close that it burned.

“Have you never celebrated your birthday?” Cedric asked.

Harry flinched. “I...no,” Harry said, quietly. He looked down, hating that they were speaking about this at a war council meeting but, it was necessary.

“Why?” Cedric demanded.

“You have no right to ask him—” Ginny barked.

“It’s fine,” Harry interrupted, shaking his head. He smiled. “Because I lived with three Muggles that despised me. I barely knew my birthday until I was eight. I’ve never gotten a cake or a ‘happy birthday’ before. That’s why I couldn’t join you for dinner yesterday but, I gather you knew that.”

“Aye,” Cedric said, quietly. He looked at Harry and nodded, as if he liked what he saw. “You have a good heart.”

“I try very hard to. It’s hard sometimes. You know?” Harry asked because he truly thought Cedric did know. And Cedric nodded like he understood Harry too well.

“We are both leaders, far too young to be leaders,” Cedric murmured and Harry nodded again. “My Adored Ones...they do not agree with my assessment. They think you are reckless and they are still afraid of you. But, your people are not. They love you. Fiercely. You walk amongst them, speak to them. You love them and they love you back.”

“And I love them. I do. I really, really do. I’d _die_ for them,” Harry said, so staunchly that Cho nearly took a step back under the weight of his stare. “I’d _die_ for them.”

“You have a good heart,” Cedric repeated. “And they will see that. They will you for what you are. We will help you, Harry Wildfyre. We will come to your aide and fight until our dying breaths because you are not fighting for your birthright. You are fighting for what’s right.”

And Harry smiled his brilliant smile and said, “Thank you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done! I've worked on this chapter for the past 5 hours to get it on time, hahaha. It was a super stressful week! But, it's all here now! I'm ready to hear what you all have to say about this strange, kinda meandering chapter. I'm not a big fan of this chapter because it really focuses on one area and I want a few more POVs but, that's all coming next chapter so I'm not too upset. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! THANK YOU AND PLEASE REVIEW!


	10. Chapter Ten

 

Amelia Bones hated the desk she sat behind. She had served two princes at the desk that she sat at, and she knew that she didn't belong behind it. She especially hated the look of awe and deference that the desk gave her, in addition to her white robes, rightfully won. But, the desk...it would never belong to her.

“Princess—” young Leanne said, quivering in her dove grey robes with excitement.

“I am not a Princess,” Amelia said, firmly. It was something she oft-repeated, and would not budge on, despite the circlet that graced her grey-streaked hair. “What is it, Leanne?”

“Sorry, Madame-General,” Leanne corrected, as carefully as she could. She skipped forward, flapping a piece of parchment in front of Amelia’s face, overwrought with excitement. “It is from the Prince. His crest is upon there. I haven’t open it though. I swear.”

Amelia sighed, shaking her head. “I know, Leanne. Come sit. You’re making my head hurt,” she said gruffly.

Her trainee—now that Susan had gone—bounced forward, and sat in the chair in front of the desk, her smile not falling in the least. She leaned forward as if she would be able to see through the parchment though Amelia hadn't even cracked the seal just yet.

“Do you mind?” Amelia muttered.

“Sorry, Madame-General,” Leanne said though she didn’t sound sorry at all. Still, she leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands in her lap, waiting for Amelia to announce the contents of the letter.

Amelia sighed and opened the letter, reading it carefully. She paused.

“It’s from the Prince, indeed,” Amelia murmured. She ignored Leanne’s squeal of excitement. “He tells me that the _King_ of Albion is indeed as beautiful as his titles claim. He is ‘kind, good, beautiful, and just’ and has procured the loyalty of thousands, including a dragon.”

“A dragon?” Leanne squeaked, bouncing up and down in her chair like a child.

Amelia snorted. “Yes, a dragon. The Prince has promised our aid and has requested that I begin to prep our troops. The King, modestly, asked for a quarter, but the Prince has agreed to three-fifths of our troops, ready to be sent over within the next three months as they prepare to host them at Afallon. Well, then, the king of Albion has made an impression on our Prince,” Amelia murmured.

“Do you think he has? Do you think he’s really as beautiful as they say?” Leanne demanded and Amelia nodded once in confirmation.

"I do not think the Prince would lie about such a thing," Amelia said and Leanne lept up, squealing, spinning in a circle in excitement before she stopped, her chains jangling around her waist.

“Will I go, Madame?”

"No," Amelia barked, finally cowing Leanne in submission. Leanne sighed, looking down and Amelia's eyes softened. "No. After all, I'll need all the help I can get after I send some of our best warriors. Now, go fetch me a bird from the falconry. I will pen confirmation and send it to the Prince straight away."

Leanne’s lips turned up into a sweet smile and she nodded, bouncing from the room. Amelia sighed, leaning back in Cedric’s chair and she shook her head.

She had had enough of sending children to war. Susan, Cedric, and even, Cho, to an extent. Amelia had been the one that had sent her after all. Cho had been the one to utter those terrible, unforgivable words against that horrid man, Roger Davies. Cho had been the one to let loose that green light in order to save Cedric and everyone else. Cho was not a child any longer.

Amelia was tired of sending children to war.

Amelia wouldn’t send another.

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

“How do I look?” Hermione asked for the third time as she looked at her reflection in the window that they passed. Luna smiled kindly at her Lady, shaking her head.

“For the third time, you look lovely, Hermione,” Luna insisted. “Even more so than Lady Daphne.”

“Good...good,” Hermione repeated, nervously, as she continued down the hallway, holding her chin up. She felt good about the day. She would be at court but, she wouldn’t allow anything to bring her down. She was alone but, that was by choice. She would be okay.

She would make sure everything was okay.

“I’ll go in on my own,” Hermione murmured.

“Okay. I have work to do and...Rodolphus is Portkeying from his secret mission with the Dark Lord to see me,” Luna said with a quiet smile. Hermione nodded in quiet understanding and they parted ways not long after they went down a flight of stairs into the Entrance Hall.

As she emerged into the Great Hall, she made sure to keep her smile steady but not overly exuberant. She nodded as the servants curtseyed, murmuring her name over and over again. This was normal. It wasn't normal that suddenly, her arm was linked with another's.

“Sister,” Blaise murmured into her ear.

"Step-brother. I haven't seen you in so long, I thought that you fucked back to the Republic. How unfortunate that you haven't," Hermione said from the corner of her mouth, keeping her lips just slightly upturned as he escorted her to the lady's tale.

“Oh, come now, sister. I can’t just leave you here utterly alone and unescorted. What would Mother think?” Blaise drawled.

"I'm surprised your _mother_ hasn’t tried to poison _me_. After all, she can’t wait to get her hands on my fortune,” Hermione sighed. She paused. “Well, that makes her sound like a caricature out of a fairy story. How quaint.”

"Now, don't be petty, Hermione," Blaise warned, teasingly though there was a malicious glint in his green eyes. He tilted his head as he regarded the woman, approaching the table where Pansy watched with maliciously dark eyes. "I am the Lord of Whispers, and I hear you have been jealous lately. Are you feeling a little ignored? Would you like an audience with the King?"

“I have many audiences with the King,” Pansy piped up. Her little sycophants all perked up, watching Pansy and Hermione steeled herself for the barb. “Lady Granger has been witness to one. Haven’t you, Lady Granger?”

"Yes. You appeared to have had...clotted cream in your hair, wasn't it?" Hermione retorted with a razor-thin smile. Millicent Bulstrode guffawed into her bear paw of a hand until Pansy elbowed so hard that she grunted.

“Well, I’m not the only one with private audiences with the King. He’s been asking Lady Greengrass to tea an awful lot lately, hasn’t he?” Pansy drawled as she lifted her goblet of wine to her lips.

“Now, now, Lady Parkinson, I hope you aren’t suggesting anything _untoward_ ,” Tracey Davis giggled.

Hermione shook with rage as she looked at the women. These dreadful, _horrible_ woman.

“Of _course_ not. The King is loyal to his intended. Isn’t that right, Lady Granger?” Pansy asked, softly.

Hermione ripped her arm for Blaise's and slowly made her way back down the aisle, away from the Great Hall before she did something unwise. Her magic tingled, unused but searching for an outlet. Hermione would give _anything_ to curse the bitch into oblivion. She paused, looking over her shoulder. Lady Narcissa watched her with cold eyes, as if she was as intriguing as a dead fish. The King watched her with some semblance of interest. The two empty seats next to them struck more despair through her. Her potential allies had abandoned her here to _rot_.

At least, the King still was interested in her.

And then, Hermione saw that his gaze was not on her at all. She turned and saw Daphne in the doorway, laughing softly at something her ward-brother had said. Daphne noticed her presence, her eyes lighting up.

“Hermione—” she called.

“Don’t,” Hermione snarled as she pushed past her, ignoring Daphne’s reaching hands. She stormed up the stairs, her eyes gleaming with tears of fury. She wasn’t sure where she was going, blinded by her rage, but when she found herself standing in the doorway of the library, she couldn’t say that she was surprised.

Hermione took a deep breath and released it through her nose. Slowly, she breathed until she blew away all of her stress and anxiety. Suddenly, she felt the urge to wrap herself around Luna and cry. But, she wouldn't. Luna was with her paramour, who had become increasingly scarce as the Dark Lord had made himself. Hermione would let her have that. Luna should have her time with her love, especially when she spent so much of her time reassuring Hermione.

“Hermione?”

Hermione winced as she heard his voice and she turned around, laughing waterily.

“Oh, Barty. I wish you weren’t here, for once,” Hermione said, attempting to laugh though she knew how cracked and broken it came out. Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she had genuinely laughed.

She thought it was perhaps when she was with Fleur and Gabrielle. Her heart ached for them. She wondered what they were doing, if they were even still _aliv_ e. She liked to imagine that they were still in their idyllic dress shop, Gabrielle still walking on Fleur's heels, begging for a few galleons to buy a new book on Albion history or apples.

“I want to be here. I want to comfort you. You’re my friend,” Barty said and he sounded much closer then. Hermione felt his hands on her sides, slowly turning her until she was facing him, looking him in the eye. He had very kind eyes. “Hermione, what’s happened?”

“I am a mockery,” Hermione said, her lips twisted into a bitter smile.

Barty hushed her gently, taking her by her hands and slowly drawing her deeper into the library, to their little nook. It was where they met to exchange books and speak softly or just read together in silence. Luna was usually there too. Now that she wasn’t, it was like magic charged the air around them.

“You aren’t,” Barty insisted. “They love you, you know? The people in Hogsmeade. They _adore_ you.”

“I will be a well-loved Queen everywhere but in my own home, then. Merlin, Barty how can you live here? This is hell,” Hermione rasped as she leaned her hips against the edge of their table, shaking her head.

“I was raised here,” Barty said, quietly. He looked over at Hermione’s inquisitive look, shyly. “As Daphne Greengrass was fostered by the Longbottoms, I was fostered by the Dark Lord when I grew too unruly for my father. I know what it’s like here.”

“Were you ostracized too?” Hermione murmured.

Barty hummed. “I had to prove myself. My Lord made me a Death Eater when I was barely a man. Severus and Lucius and the others...well, they weren’t kind, at first. But, I proved myself. I’m one of them now.”

“Why would you want to be?” Hermione demanded to know, staring at him. “The Death Eaters have done _heinous_ things.”

“Why do you want to be a Slytherin, little bird?” Barty retorted, just as swift. “The Slytherins have done even worse things. But, you’d like to belong, wouldn’t you? You want to belong somewhere?”

“I want to _survive_ ,” Hermione hissed and when had Barty gotten so close?

She couldn’t remember.

They were breathing each other’s air, lost in each other.  
“You should want more than that,” Barty murmured.

Hermione slowly lifted a trembling hand, her fingers playing with the ends of his straw-colored hair.

“I haven’t ever been allowed to want more than that,” Hermione admitted. “I want now.”

And she looped her arm around his neck and pulled him close, slotting their lips together.

It was a messy and frantic kiss. Hermione wasn’t particularly practiced but, she’d kissed a man before. Draco, when he had been kind and the good prince that he had proclaimed to be. Before she had noticed the greed in his eyes when he mapped his hands across her skin. But, this kiss was different. Hot and all-consuming, their lips moving together, their tongues brushing against one another. Barty’s hands were tight on her waist, pulling her against him and they were of a height, so she had to tilt her head just so.

Hermione pulled back to breathe, her lips spit-slicked and parted. She was breathing hard and Barty was watching her like he’d never seen her before.

“This is not wise,” Barty admitted. “You’re the King’s intended.”

“The King fucks all the women he wants. The King is allowed to want. I’m supposed to be Queen, aren’t I? Then, I want too,” Hermione insisted, pulling him against her again, chasing his lips. Barty leaned forward immediately, kissing her soundly.

His hands tightened on her waist and slid her up on the edge of the table. He stepped between her legs, crumpling her skirts, his hands brushing up her sides to cup her small breasts. His lips pulled away from hers with a soft sound and then he was on her neck, the exposed skin of her collarbone, sucking bruises into her skin. Hermione moaned softly as he worshipped her and she tore at her bodice, unlacing it swiftly to reveal her breasts.

“Merlin, you’re perfect,” Barty whispered as he stared at her.

Hermione smiled as she leaned back on her hands.

“I would like to taste you, my Lady,” Barty breathed, breathlessly.

Hermione’s cheeks were flushed as he dragged his hands up and down her sides, his lips pressing over and over again to her chest, to her breasts. Hermione whimpered softly as his fingers tweaked at her small nipples, his tongue lapping over them.

“You...you are tasting...me…” Hermione breathed, moaning softly.

Barty hummed and he slowly sank to his knees before her, his hands tight on her tiny waist.

“Lower,” Barty breathed as he hiked her skirts up, his fingers dragging along her stockings, at her small clothes and he tugged at them before pausing. He looked up at her, eyes bright. “May I?”

“I...I don’t...that’s...I’ve never,” Hermione finished, unsure of what to say.

She hadn’t ever done much of anything.

“Let me. Please,” Barty begged.

Hermione slowly nodded, only aware that where he touched, she burned. She burned so pleasantly that she thought she might burst or vomit or both. Barty grinned as he ducked under her skirts, sucking and nipping at her inner thighs. The sensitive flesh tingled under the touch of his lips and Hermione moaned as his fingers pushed aside her small clothes, brushing against her folds.

“Barty, that’s...oh…” she breathed as he ran his fingers up and down, running them against her nub, teasing her.

And then, she felt something wet press against her hot core and she fell back against the table, pushing one of the books aside with a loud thump. He ducked from under her skirts, looking up at her with a wide smile.

“Shh...we mustn’t be found out,” he warned with a grin before he went back under her skirts and his _tongue_ pressed against her wet folds again.

Hermione wondered if this was what the afterlife felt like. Warm and tingling and exquisite. His tongue lapped against her folds, tasting her wetness and her breathing quickened as she clenched her thighs around his ears. Hermione whimpered softly as his tongue slowly began to thrust _into_ her hot core and she mewled softly, biting into the soft flesh of her arm to muffle her sounds. Hermione opened her half-closed eyes and she gasped when she caught sight of a pair of eyes, just behind a bookcase.

Her step-brother hovered in the shadows, his eyes narrowed in rage. Hermione’s lips curled into a tiny smile.

She reached for Barty’s head under her skirts and moaned again.

“More...more...Barty, I…” she whined and then she came, her back arching, her chest aching for breath, and her eyes never left Blaise’s.

Blaise snarled.

Hermione _smiled._

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Narcissa pressed her face into her hands, breathing slowly in order to will away her frustration. She looked up again, her ire twisting her face into something ugly as she regarded her stupid, _stupid_ son. Draco glared at her, defiant until the end.

“You must _realize_ that just because you are king doesn’t mean you can do anything you want,” Narcissa said, keeping her voice level. She ignored Dolohov, lingering in the corner, watching them like they were a jousting match.

Narcissa’s mood soured. She had first met _Lucius_ at a tourney.

“You always said—” Draco started.

“I know what I said,” Narcissa snarled and Draco fell silent, his lips curled into a sneer. Narcissa looked at him and shook her head. “If _anyone_...had seen...you and that _girl_.”

“We were having tea,” Draco retorted.

"And she was on your lap while doing it? The damn Greengrass girl, Draco?" Narcissa bit out and Draco scoffed, shaking his head as he looked out of the window, like a child.

“Why does it make a difference? You don’t care when it’s Pansy,” Draco muttered.

“Pansy is a stupid girl with her legs open for everyone, and her father is _loyal_. Don't touch the Greengrass girl, Draco. The Longbottoms aren't as loyal as they seem," Narcissa warned him and she knew that she was warning him in vain. She knew her son, her stupid son that she had raised.

"I haven't even kissed her, Mother, and Neville Longbottom swore his family to me," Draco retorted.

Narcissa closed her eyes. She remembered the look on Neville Longbottom and Daphne Greengrass’ faces when she had walked into the hall, full of slaughtered men and women. She had been humming, nonsensically, as she shot Lady Longbottom through the throat, as she tortured her. She had hummed loud enough to dispel the woman’s screams. Now, the tune had been fashioned into a song. After it was done, Narcissa had walked over the bodies, blood splashing at her feet and she had kneeled before them.

_‘They will write songs about this night. Don't cry, little fish. They will write songs about you, as they have written songs about me. Do not cry, little fish. Tears are blood, ill-spilled.'_

And she _remembered_ the looks on their face. Neville’s pale, round face, his wide eyes haunted. Augusta, ashen and old. And Daphne. Daphne’s _fury._

Narcissa had wiped the tears from her face. They had tasted like the sea.

“Fine,” Narcissa hissed. “But, you will not dishonor your betrothed again. You wanted her—”

“What if I don’t anymore?” Draco said, petulantly.

Narcissa hummed. “You will keep her. Do you know what they say about her? Out there? They _love_ her, far more than they will ever love you or Daphne Greengrass. And she is the heiress of an _immense_ fortune. You will keep her, Draco. In fact, you shall keep her sooner than you expect. Keep away from Daphne Greengrass.”

“Or what?” Draco asked.

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed. “Or you shall reap what you sow. Now, get out of my sight.”

Draco paused, ready to rage at her again before he seemed to remember the last time he had disrespected her. Narcissa watched him flinch away from her as she lifted her wand to spell her books and scrolls away. Her heart sang with sorrow. Her own son, her boy, was terrified of her. But, she was terrified of him, as well. Her little monster.

Draco nodded once and glared at Dolohov.

“Your Grace,” the man said, bowing low.

Draco nodded and stormed out of the room. Narcissa leaned back in her chair and snapped her fingers. She watched as a house elf appeared before her, wrinkled and sad-looking. Narcissa’s lip curled into a sneer.

“Yes, Mistress?” the house elf squeaked.

“Fetch Lord Crouch for me. Tell him that he may take his time,” Narcissa said and then she turned away, disinterested in the house elf’s answer. The house elf disappeared with a loud crack of magic, and the Lady of the Coin looked at Dolohov. “You were witness to something private.”

“I was. But, you called me here, my lady,” Dolohov challenged. His gaze narrowed on the woman. “I won’t speak of what happened here.”

“Good,” Narcissa murmured. She stood from behind her desk, regarding the man before her. “My Lord, you have served well on the King’s council.”

“I live to serve,” Dolohov confirmed and Narcissa laughed.

Dolohov didn’t.

Narcissa slowly walked towards him, slinking forward like a snake before she changed direction, going towards the window. She looked out, towards the gates to the Forbidden Forest, as if she expected Voldemort to emerge. Narcissa sneered. She hadn’t seen her brother in weeks, just as she hadn’t seen Lucius.

“I have asked you here because we are moving up the King’s wedding to the Lady Granger,” Narcissa said, and Dolohov scoffed.

“Forgive me, my Lady, but I don’t have time to plan weddings. I have a war to win for the King instead,” Dolohov said and he turned to leave. Narcissa spun around, her wand on him, and the Death Eater froze.

“You will not leave unless I dismiss you, my Lord,” Narcissa said, coldly. Slowly, Dolohov turned around, his eyebrow raised and Narcissa slowly strode towards him, her lips turned into a cold smile. “I require your assistance, my Lord. I hope it won’t be a bother.”

“You’ve never had anyone say ‘no’ to you in your life, have you, my Lady?” Dolohov asked. “Never experienced rejection.”

Narcissa nearly took a step back. Dolohov watched her, impassively, and Narcissa’s smile was sharp as glass.

"You think I do not know pain, Lord Dolohov?" Narcissa asked, gently, as if speaking to a child and she gazed at the handsome man, with his strong jaw. She reached up, tracing her fingers against him and he shuddered. "You think I do not know horror? You are horror. You have done horrifying things, haven't you?"

“What do you mean, my Lady?” Dolohov asked.

Narcissa's lips curled into a soft smile. He never turned his gaze from hers. He looked deep into her eyes. That was his first mistake.

She peeled his mind open and smiled.

His second mistake: what a handsome man, he was. With his strong jaw.

“You like little girls a little too much, don’t you, my Lord?” Narcissa murmured as she stepped closer to him, her breasts pressed against his chest. Dolohov opened his mouth to protest but Narcissa hushed him, soft and quiet. “Do not...lie to me. You cannot lie to _me_.”

“I...I have committed indiscretions, yes, my Lady,” Dolohov breathed and he squirmed as his groin tightened and pulsed as he looked at this beautiful woman.

“But, it’s not about...just the little girls. It’s all the women. The women that you can express control over. Do you think you can control me, my Lord? Or would you like to be controlled?” Narcissa murmured, brushing her fingers down his chest, her lips twisting as he tracked the rise and fall of her breasts, the way her lips parted just so.

“I...I don’t know…”

“I’ll have you on your knees for me,” Narcissa promised with a sly smile and she pressed her hand back, pushing him away as the door swung open.

Dolohov staggered, falling to one knee to center himself. Narcissa suppressed her laugh as Lord Crouch emerged, looking as severe and tepid as always.

“My Lady,” Crouch said with a short bow and Narcissa nodded.

"Lord Crouch, I'm glad that you've come. We have much to discuss," Narcissa said and she waved Crouch over to the seats before her desk, walking past Dolohov as if their past exchange hadn't happened at all. Crouch nodded.

"Where is the King?" Crouch asked, roughly, as he sat down.

Narcissa hummed, sitting behind her desk. "His presence isn't required. The King has better things to do than plan a wedding. Now, come. We shall discuss the Lady Granger's wedding and coronation."

Crouch’s eyes lit up. He saw this for what it was. Narcissa extending her hand, in gratitude for his continued loyalty. Ever the political animal, was Bartemius Crouch Sr. But, Narcissa was no longer the young mother that had had a family slaughtered in order to secure her and her family’s future.

No.

Narcissa did her own butchering now.

* * *

**ON**

* * *

Cedric walked through the training grounds, his arms linked with Cho, their heads bent together.

“Do you really think this wise?” Cho murmured.

“I signed the contract, Cho. It is done,” Cedric said, firmly, for what felt like the twentieth time. Cho sighed, and nodded, as she had the other nineteen times that she had asked the same question. Cedric never got angry with Cho but, it wouldn’t be a lie to say that he was a little irritated by her doubt.

“I know. I just...I’m so worried, Cedric. I’m worried about you,” Cho insisted. “What if you...if you _die_?”

“Then, you’ll lead a country newly prosperous after the King of Albion’s win,” Cedric said, firmly. He ignored Cho’s moan of dismay. “I do not fear death, Cho. I thought I’d die a long time before now. I thought that I would...you know.”

“Don’t speak of that, please,” Cho whispered.

Cedric nodded once. He knew how much Cho hated speaking about the darkest parts of his life—when he had first met her. When Cho had come to his castle, seeking out her father, he had been desolate, only wandering his mother’s garden for comfort. His mother was like Cho in so many ways—kind, fair, well-read, and from another land. While Cho was from the Republic, Cedric’s mother had been a common woman from a village outside of the Albion stronghold of Arcadia. She had made the gardens to look much like the ones in Arcadia.

Cho’s father had disrupted that tranquility and Cedric had been consumed by black rage and grief. Only Cho had been his guiding light once she had gotten his Adored Ones to return after he had done nothing but driven them away.

“Alright, my love,” Cedric murmured. He gently tugged her out of the way of a sparring pair and he nearly walked right past them before he hesitated, getting a better glimpse. “Dean?”

“Aye!” Dean shouted, breathlessly as he sparred with a redheaded woman with a long thick braid down her back. Cedric frowned. If he remembered correctly, Ginevra Weasley, the Commander of the Archers.

She fought well for an archer, though a little dirty. Cedric grinned when Ginny was caught in a stranglehold and escaped with a well-placed kick back at Dean’s groin. Dean cried out, falling to his knees before he pushed through the agony and tackled Ginny to the ground. Cho scoffed, shaking her head.

“Fighting for fun? Again?” Cho sighed.

“You know that’s not what that was,” Cedric chided, gently, as they continued past to another one of his Adored Ones.

Justin and Ernie and Firenze, the centaur, were watching a spar between two older men. By their dress, Cedric assumed that they were Death Eaters. Brothers even. One of the men had a terrible scar going through a hazy eye.

“It’s Rodolphus Lestrange, Cedric. He’s glorious, isn’t he?” Justin whispered in admiration.

The Death Eaters' prowess had reached even the farthest recesses of the world. As it had spread, it had seemed like nothing but fairy stories but, Cedric was in awe. Rodolphus and Rabastan twisted around each other with a brutality that spoke of an urge to kill, not just a simple spar. To see them in true battle...Cedric was glad that they were on the same side.

Cedric couldn’t help but nod. “He’s good. No Severus Snape but…” Cedric murmured and he wondered if he’d ever get to see the great swordmaster fight in person.

“If you’re looking for a real fight. Look who just kicked _Anthony’s_ ass,” Justin chuckled, pointing further over.

Cedric’s eyes widened as he saw Harry Wildfyre, standing amongst a small crowd, his head tilted back in his laughter. Anthony kneeled on the ground, between Susan and Hannah. Hannah was cursing softly, punching Anthony in the shoulder as she looked over his wounds. Cedric approached fast, Cho on his heels.

“Really, Anthony?” Cedric sighed.

Anthony shrugged. “I thought I could beat him.”

“You can’t even beat _me_ ,” Susan groaned, shaking her head. She glanced over at Harry. The King’s back was to them as he was congratulated by his followers—the redhead, Ron Weasley, Tonks, and the Dark Lord. “Look who has taught him.”

Cedric shook his head and stepped forward. “You’ve beaten my man bloody, your Grace,” Cedric called. “I don’t think he minds though.”

Harry looked over his shoulder, laughing into his hand. “I don’t think he does either. I smiled at him and he nearly threw himself at my feet.”

“Not true!” Anthony roared as the men and women around them laughed. Anthony flushed a blotchy pink and he shook his head. “I bet you couldn’t beat my Prince! He would grind you into the dust!”

Harry tilted his head in interest. His lips curled into a smile.

“Do you really think so?” Harry murmured.

Tonks frowned. “Harry…” she said, full of warning.

“Cedric, don’t…” Cho murmured. Cedric grinned, taking a step forward.

The Dark Lord barely reacted, his eyes darting between all of them. “Your Grace, must you always be so reckless?” he sighed, as if already tired of Harry.

Harry laughed, softly. “Come now, my Lord,” he teased. “What do the Adored Ones think? Can he beat me?”

"Yes," Hannah said, firmly, so full of belief. "He is the prince of a warrior country. Of course, he can beat you."

"So cocksure, Hannah," Harry laughed. "I am not the prince of a warrior country but, I am a warrior in my own right. Some might even call me a conqueror."

Cedric nodded in agreement. “That’s a word for it.”

“You think maybe...you could beat me?” Harry Wildfyre asked, his eyes alight with mischief.

Cedric paused, looking down at Anthony. The man was breathing hard, blood smeared across his mouth and the rim of his water skein. Anthony took another sip, wiping away the sweat on his sleeve. Cedric tried his hardest not to look at Cho as he took a step forward, slowly lifting his wand.

“I’ve been trained to fight from birth,” Cedric allowed. He took up Anthony’s fallen sword and slowly began to circle the self-proclaimed King of Albion.

He didn’t twitch, his lips twisting into a small smile despite himself.

"I have been made King by the most brutal man in the world. I have bled and been beaten for my cause. Forgive me for saying that I think we'll be quite matched in skill, your Highness," Harry said over his shoulder as he looked back at them.

“Then, prove it,” Anthony said, spitting out a tooth.

And Cedric threw himself forward towards Harry’s open back. And then, Harry was on his knees, spinning, swinging one foot out at Cedric’s ankle, followed by the line of his sword. Cedric threw himself back, eyes wide at the sudden move, and Harry’s green eyes sparkled with mirth.

“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ " Cedric cast, his wand in hand.

Harry dodged and rolled across the ground, the sands of the fighting pit scarred black by the spell. He propelled himself upwards with only his legs and landed in a crouch. Cedric stared at him as Harry's eyes narrowed.

“Are you _sure_ , Prince Cedric?” Harry asked, softly.

Cedric’s lips curled into a small smile. “I’m sure.”

Harry grinned a terrible smile. “Good,” he said, and then he snarled, his lips pulled back over his teeth, like the dragon that hissed and spat in the background. “This might hurt a bit.”

He began to run forward and Cedric only had a moment to react as Harry threw his sword down in a brutal arc and pulled his wand with the other, hissing a spell that Cedric couldn't hear. Cedric caught the sword with his own and curved out of the way of the spell. The jet of magic was so close, he could feel it crackling against his skin. His face was only inches from Harry's, and Harry grinned as he threw himself backward.

Cedric rolled back his shoulders. His arm had vibrated from the force of the blow. He looked into Harry's bright green eyes, and he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. Harry grinned back and spun out of the blow, twisting his wand just so the spell spiraled with the momentum of his body. Cedric flew backward, knocked flat on his ass, and he let out a gasp of shock. Immediately, he twisted onto his hands and knees and pushed himself up, dragging his sword into an arc.

Harry just barely ducked out of the way, holding his wand and sword defensively.

“You’re good. Really good,” Cedric complimented as he gathered himself, regarding Harry.

“Thank you,” Harry said, sounding mildly out of breath. “I’ve had a good teacher.”

“You can’t have just started learning,” Cedric debated. Harry’s lips curled into a secretive smile and he winked. Cedric grinned. This beautiful man was something else indeed. He shook his head in amusement. “You said you could beat me. You’ll have to show me something I’ve never seen before.”

Harry’s lips curled into a grin. “Sure,” he said and then he slowly stowed his wand and waved his hand through the air, as if gathering something into his palm.

Cedric’s eyes widened when he saw the tiny ball of fire resting in Harry’s palm. And then Harry blew softly, and the tiny spark exploded into an inferno.

Cedric dove out of the way, rolling away as the Earth was scorched by a fire that burned so hot that he felt his skin tingle and crack with the power of it.

“What is _that_?” Cedric asked, his eyes wide.

“Warned you!” Anthony shouted snarkily from between Hannah and Susan. Cedric glanced over his shoulder at his Adored Ones.

Cho’s nostrils were flared, her eyes wide with terror.

"Eyes on me, Prince Cedric," Harry called and rolled the fire between his fingers as he stalked Cedric. He threw his hand forward.

Cedric brought his wand up and shouted, “ _Protego Maxima_.”

The fire exploded around his Shield Charm. Harry watched, his eyes wide with delight as he watched the magic pulse in time with his own fire, fighting against the strength of it.

“ _Suffumo_ ,” Cedric called, and a large cloud of smoke exploded around him, obscuring everyone’s view. He waved his wand, giving himself sharper eyes—the eyes of the Beast—and slowly moved through the smoke.

He could hear the shouts of disorientation from the spectators but, his eyes were on Harry. Harry’s back was to him, twisting and turning through the smoke. Cedric raised his wand, as he pressed against Harry’s back, pressing his wand against the King’s temple.

“I think I’ve won this round, Fairest,” Cedric said with a grin.

Harry snorted. “Have you, Beast?” he asked and then he slammed his head back, cracking it against Cedric’s face and spun, slamming the pommel of his sword into Cedric’s face. “When it comes to winning, your Highness, unfortunately, I lack any semblance of honor.”

Cedric roared with laughter even as his nose cracked and bled. He threw out his wand, blowing away the smoke with jinxes after charms and Harry laughed too, blowing each back, bending and weaving between the sizzling magic. He was like fire, ever-changing, and just as destructive. His Fire exploded around him again, like a halo and Cedric gritted his teeth.

“Honor doesn’t win wars,” Cedric conceded.

“Aye,” Harry chuckled, and he spun, throwing his sword down, his Fire following in arc after him.

And so it was on. Cedric battled Harry's steel with his sword and his Fire with his wand. He watched as the Fire weaved and bowed with Harry's movement, just as it had when Harry had been working with Freia. The fight was nothing short of brutal. Rapid parrying and violent thrusting. Cedric caught Harry in the side,  grazing him with a Disarming Charm, causing him to stumble. Harry returned it with a headbutt when Cedric got too close.

Cedric wasn’t sure if it lasted for years or minutes. He knew that he was tiring. Sweat poured from his brow, obscuring his vision, and his robes were singed from the moment that Harry had let his Fire get too close.

“Ready to end this?” Cedric called.

“I’m just getting started,” Harry responded as they backed away from each other, still grinning. But, Cedric knew that Harry was just as exhausted as him.

He also knew that Harry was holding his Fire back.

"Bring everything you've got, _Fairest,_ ” Cedric prompted, taunting.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure, _Beast_?”

“Yes,” Cedric said, affirmatively.

Harry slowly backed away until they were meters apart. Cedric slowly held his sword out in front of him, his eyes narrowing on the target.

And then Harry began to run. Cedric gasped as Harry spun, his flames spinning with him, attaching themselves to him as if a shield. The fire spiraled out from his sword, threatening to burn him alive. Then, there was a great screech, and Cedric looked up as the dragon soared overhead, as if called to Harry's side by the heat of his Fire. The dragon opened her mouth, eyes trained on Cedric.

“FREIA! No!” Harry shouted.

Cedric gasped as the dragon closed its mouth and continued to fly overhead, circling them, as if watching him. And then, he saw his chance. He darted forward, bringing his sword down as Harry tried to calm his dragon.

That was a mistake.

Harry’s Fire twisted, and blasted outwards, catching Cedric across his body, settling his robes afire, and tossing him onto his back. Cedric roared at the sharp flash of agony, and he thought he could hear Cho’s voice mingling.

“No!” Harry cried out, throwing his hand out as he pulled his magic back, and the flames disappeared just as quick as they had come. Cedric gasped, clutching at his chest and when he looked down at himself, he was unburned. “No more Fire. We can just—”

“I yield...I yield…” Cedric gasped as he staggered to his feet.

Immediately, Cho was running at him and threw herself around him.

Cho brought Cedric tight against her body as his head felt against her shoulder in exhaustion. She sighed in relief, her fingers scrambling over the back of his singed robes, brushing away the sweat and blood from his brow without a care.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” she whispered, over and over again. Cedric only hugged her back. Cho was from the Republic. She was not like him. She didn’t have violence and brutality thrumming in her blood.

Not like Cedric.

Not like Harry Wildfyre.

“Why did you yield?” Hannah hissed into his ear as she checked him over wounds, running the tip of her wand over his chest, sealing the gash there.

Cedric turned to look at Harry Wildfyre. Harry was watching Freia, running his hands through his hair. Blood dripped from his temple and sand and dirt smudged across his cheeks. His hair was a mess, matted with blood. The Dark Lord stood in front of him, raking his finger through Harry’s hair, whispering words.

“I couldn’t have beat him. Even without the Fire,” Cedric confessed, softly.

“Why? You have been trained since birth,” Hannah hissed, warningly. She glanced over at the other Adored Ones. Cedric could see the barely-contained fury in Susan’s face, so much like her aunt’s.

“And he possesses brutality and fire that one must be born with. He has something that I’ve never needed. The unrelenting will to _survive_. To _endure_ ," Cedric said, firmly, and the longer he looked at this enigma of a man, he saw how true his words were.

This man had _endured_.

The King didn’t even glance in their direction. Tonks stood behind him, her arms wrapped around his middle and her forehead pressed into the nape of Harry’s neck. Voldemort stood in front of Harry, tilting his chin up this way and that, inspecting him for wounds. An older woman had rushed to his side, forcing potions on him that he seemed to be refusing to take.

“He will live,” Cho called, snappishly.

Harry pulled away from Voldemort, reaching out to the Alfheimeans. Cedric’s Adored Ones closed rank, eyes narrowed on him. Harry jerked back, his hand dropping.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get distracted and let the Fire loose...I didn’t think that Freia would _do_ that. She knows it was just a game. It was just…” Harry trailed off, shaking his head. He looked up at the circling dragon. “ _Freia_ , _baw_. _Baw füir_.”

Freia screeched at him in response, almost defiant. Cedric watched, ignoring his Adored Ones.

“ _BAW, FREIA!_ ” Harry shouted back at the screech, snarling and Freia shrieked once before taking off, as if in a huff. Harry buried his face in his hands for just a minute. He looked up again. “Are you...are you hurt? Did I burn you?”

“He’s fine,” Tonks murmured from Voldemort’s side.

“No thanks to you,” Cho snarled back, angrily.

“I’m unhurt,” Cedric interjected. “In war...in war, that is a mighty weapon to have.”

He said it pointedly, looking at his Adored Ones. Now that they saw that he was unharmed, there seemed to be a different light in their eyes. Even Susan was watching Harry, still was fear of the unknown but a sense of respect in her eyes.

“How did you...do that?” Susan asked.

Harry’s lips quirked into a hesitant smile. “It’s...I was born with it. A manifestation of my magic before I knew that I _had_ magic,” Harry suggested.

Cho trembled as she looked at them all.

“And the dragon? You speak to it?” Ernie asked, hesitant.

Harry nodded eagerly, and he took a step forward. Only Cho flinched back.

“ _She_ is Freia. Freia is still a child. She is defiant and doesn’t want to listen and is...overprotective,” Harry said, firmly. He looked at Cedric with a raised eyebrow. “You are a remarkable fighter indeed. You are better than me, in technique.”

“But you are more powerful,” Cedric conceded. “The most powerful wizard I’ve ever met.”

Harry laughed. "I still lose to the Dark Lord so perhaps not yet," Harry said. He hesitated when Tonks leaned in, whispering into his ear. He nodded, slowly and smiled at them all. "I've been informed that I have a war meeting to plan. Cedric, I ask for your presence in this meeting, along with your second."

Cedric nodded, and he watched as Harry walked away, his blood thrumming from the thrill of the fight.

“That was...I hope he fights in battle with us. We’ll win, surely,” Susan murmured. Her admiration was nearly palpable. “That was extraordinary.”

“But, did you see the way he _moved_?” Anthony demanded. “Merlin, I feel like I’ve just had sex.”

“You’re disgusting,” Hannah snorted and she linked arms with Susan, leading her away towards the older woman that had tended to Harry.

Anthony rolled his eyes and nudged Cedric in the side.

“He is beautiful in his brutality,” Anthony murmured.

Cedric nodded as he continued to look at Harry Wildfyre. He was the most beautiful creature in the world, bar Cedric’s Cho. Cedric had seen Harry’s good heart before but, the feeling of respect—the utmost respect—well within him. It was new, the type of respect that he’d only held for his Adored Ones and Madame Bones and grudgingly, the Slytherins. This man was an _equal_ , in all ways.

“He is,” Cedric whispered.

Cho sneered and she glowered at Harry’s back.

* * *

**THE**

* * *

 

Cho paused in front of the door, nervous. She raised her hand to knock and then let it drop again. She repeated the process at least three more times. She ground her teeth together as she gathered her courage again. She was the Princess of Alfheim. She could do this. She _would_ do this. She could not fight and she abhorred war but she would do this. She had done many things. For her people. For her husband.

Cho knocked.

“Come in.”

Even his voice made her lips curl into a sneer. Cho threw the doors open, her shoulders thrown back. She had worn her most Alfheimean outfit. Her skin looked delicate in gold and cream. The cream—near white—might not have meant something to these Albionians, and it might look underserved but, Cho had worn it. She had done many things.

Cho paused when she did not see the man lounging in his bed or on one of the many sofas. Cho paused when she saw a familiar black cloak tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair. The Dark Lord. Cho wouldn't dwell on that just yet.

 

“Your Grace?” Cho called, keeping her voice hard.

“Second door on your right!”

Cho nodded once and stormed forward again, refusing to lose her resolve as she approached the heavy oak door.

She pushed the door open and gawked.

“I-I’m sorry...I didn’t know!” she squeaked, slapping her hand over her eyes. She turned around, her cheeks bright red.

"I invited you in. What is it you need of me, Princess Cho?" Harry Wildfyre asked.

Cho was forced to turn around and she processed the sight before her. She felt a rush through her body. Harry Wildfyre was so _beautiful_ , even more beautiful than her Cedric. She knew that if she hadn’t met her Cedric, she would’ve...could’ve...well, she could look. Harry was unabashed, slowly washing the blood from his skin and hair as he lounged in his bath.

“You may call me Cho, your Grace,” the Princess of Alfheim said, stiffly. It was clearly an attempt at a peace offering but, was too wooden to be sincere.

"It's Harry. I told you. Just Harry. What is it you need, Cho?" Harry asked absently, scrubbing the dirt from his pale skin. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he regarded her.

“My husband wants to help you but, I don’t like you,” Cho said, bluntly.

“May I ask why?”

“You are brutal and quick to fight. Fighting for sport,” Cho scoffed.

Harry’s eyebrow rose.

"I was under the impression that your country thrived on such violent entertainment," Harry said loftily before he waved his wand, filling the tub with more oils and soaps from the half-full vials on one of the window ledges.

“We don’t fight for _sport_. We fight to defend ourselves,” Cho said.

“You prepare children for war,” Harry retorted. He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Cho’s. “Your Adored Ones mocked me behind my back. You think I do not hear? You think I do not see? You think I am arrogant and stupid. Odd and brash. Reckless and a terrible idea. But, now...they see what my people see.”

Cho took a step forward. “And _what_ do your people see?” Cho asked. “Someone that is beautiful? Someone that is brutal?”

“Someone that is _worthy_ ,” Harry snarled. Cho faltered at the cold look on Harry’s face. His expression was dark and he looked older than he had looked seconds before. Dark red lips curled into a fearsome sneer. “I have _fought_ for my titles. Just as your husband.”

“How?” Cho laughed. “You know nothing about the life my Cedric has lived. The horrible things that he’s had to endure. You call him ‘beast’, reminding him of the darkest years of his life. You speak about his shame in public. You—”

“I know about shame,” Harry said, coldly. “I felt it every day of my life until I was found. I _am_ reckless. And I am arrogant, sometimes. And brutal. And I’m beautiful too. Do you know what it’s like to be beautiful, Cho of Alfheim?”

“Easy.”

“ _Terrifying_ ,” Harry hissed, his nostrils flared. “I have been told so many terrible humiliating things by men that want me. I have been stalked and assaulted. I have been beautiful all my life, and it was the _ugliest_ thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Harry had only been twelve. He closed his eyes, remembering the way he had taken the blade to his cheeks, tearing gouges and scars and grief across his face. The blood had flowed heavy and slick. It seemed like it would never end, tears of blood gathering at the point of his chin, staining the stretched collar of Dudley’s hand-me-down tunic.

And even through the agony, he smiled.

_Pretty boy. Let me hold you down and fuck you._

_Little slut, let me make you cry with my cock._

_Pretty boy. Pretty boy. Beautiful_ boy.

When he woke up in the morning, he wept, his face whole and unscarred.

But, that was not Cho's story. That was his secret. That was his secret that he would take to the grave.

But, she saw it. She saw the shame. And that was all that mattered.

“I know what shame feels like. And it’s not _easy_ ,” Harry hissed. “My life has never been easy but, it’s made me worthy.”

“How?” Cho asked, her voice softer now. As if she wanted a true answer.

Harry looked at the woman. Cho could unravel the alliance if she wanted. Harry knew that Cho was beautiful and beauty did things to men like Cedric, even if he wanted to pretend that it didn’t. That he was _above_ that. Tonks had taught him well.

"I have watched men throw themselves before me to protect them. I have broken the chains off of my people, to free them from bondage. I have grown up in war, and have seen the most terrible things. But, the most beautiful things too. I have given all of myself to my people. I am Albion," Harry said and he stood from his bath, grabbing his towels to properly cover himself. Cho looked away as he dried himself off and walked out of the bathroom. She walked after him, staring, as he dressed.

Harry was so beautiful in crimson robes, settling that crown of gold and rubies into his hair. In his battle robes, he looked different—darkness and tarnishing silver. But, the Harry before Cho was bright as war and beautiful as gold.

“And this makes you worthy?” Cho asked.

Harry frowned, looking away. “I wasn’t joking when I said I was called Wyrdfod. Fateborn. This was always the way it was meant to be. A Seer hailed a Kingmaker. The Kingmaker hailed me,” Harry said, shortly.

“Do you want to rule?” Cho asked.

"It's my birthright," Harry said instead as he pulled back his drying hair and cast a Hot-Wind Charm, drying it as fast as he could. He looked at her, put off-balance by her sudden change in mood. "You ask many questions."

Cho flushed. “I want to understand you because I don’t. At all. My husband says you have a good heart. I want to see it.”

Harry’s lips curled into a smile.

“Your husband is a good man. It must be nice to love a good man,” Harry said.

“It is. Do you not love a good man?” Cho asked, carefully.

Harry knew what she was really asking. He regarded her for a long moment though his smile never fell.

“Oh, I love the most wicked man of all,” Harry said, simply.

Cho stared at him, thoughts racing through her head. So, that confirmed that rumor. Harry was in love with the Dark Lord. But, that didn’t matter, did it? Harry was different from what she expected, and perhaps, Cho was blinded by her overprotectiveness of her husband and her people.

“Why do you do these things? Tell me that,” Cho said.

She didn’t specify what things.

Harry hummed. “I was a good boy, you know. A good boy who listened who followed the rules. The funny thing is...kings and queens don’t have any rules except, one: survive.”

Cho hesitated as she looked at this man. She remembered the green light and the way Roger's eyes had gone blank. She remembered Cedric's broken body before the white-haired witch had asked her a question _What do we say to the Stranger, Death_? She remembered how she could only remember the answer in her dreams. She remembered how she only had nightmares.

“Do you have nightmares too?” Cho asked, her voice soft now.

Harry smiled. “Yes. But, I have happy dreams now, too.”

* * *

**WALL**

* * *

 

Harry stared worriedly as Freia’s screeching mounted again, in rage this time.

“She won’t eat anything we give ‘er,” Hagrid explained again as they watched Charlie try to wrangle his once sweet dragon. Freia snarled, as if she hadn’t known Charlie since birth, as if he hadn’t been feeding her and taking care of her. “She’s been goin’ out longer and longer. Heard some stories. People are catching sight of ‘er.”

“Harry...unless you want to bring Freia into battle...she must remain a rumor. Nothing more,” McGonagall warned on Harry’s other side.

“I know. I know,” Harry breathed, his eyes widening as he watched Freia snarl, smoke billowing from her nostrils. “Why is she _acting_ like this?”

“She’s a dragon, yer Grace,” Hagrid said, unapologetically. Harry looked up at the half-giant and frowned. “Dragons don’t like to be told what do, I reckon.”

“But, she’s _my_ dragon. And she has to eat,” Harry said, helplessly.

They watched as Charlie turned away from Freia, jogging back towards them and she settled when the man gave her space. Harry remembered a time when Freia had been around humans all the time. Now, they had to keep her on the other side of Westeron, in isolation, or atop one of the towers, near his rooms. It hurt.

“Oh, she’s eating,” Charlie said, darkly.

Harry paled. “ _What_ is she eating?”

“She’s been hunting. Cattle, according to Percy. She might graduate to humans soon enough if she doesn’t eat what we feed her,” Charlie sighed and Harry shook his head once, dismissing the idea immediately.

He would die before letting Freia eat anyone.

“She’s been aggressive,” McGonagall said. “Harry…”

Her voice was full of warning.

“I know, I know. I don’t need you saying ‘I told you so’,” Harry snapped. He winced at the steady look that McGonagall rewarded him and his face softened into pleading. “I just...if Moody finds out, he’ll be the first one spouting off.”

“Oh, he’s already found out,” Charlie said, as cheerfully as possible. “I heard him, Vance, Fendwick, and McKinnon plotting and complaining. As always.”

“Dammit,” Harry whispered.

“Maybe the Dark Lord…” Hagrid trailed off, hesitating.

Harry groaned. “Merlin, no. He’ll be insufferable about it. I’ll...I’ll take care of this,” Harry said, steadying his resolve as he marched up to the dragon. “Freia!”

He didn't flinch when she screeched at him, angrily, throwing her head back and letting out a plume of fire. Harry paused in his movements as he looked at his dragon. Freia's actions reminded him of Teddy, when he was throwing a tantrum. Freia had been confined for so long, and now that he had given her an inch, she was taking a mile. It didn't help that she was enormous, much larger than even Hagrid now.

Still, where everyone flinched away from her, Harry continued to move towards her. Freia wouldn’t hurt him. She could never hurt him.

“Freia, calm yourself,” Harry said, sharply. Freia spat at him, the grass in front of him bursting into flames. He ignored Hagrid and Charlie’s yelps of warning. Instead, he extinguished it with a wave of his hand and walking over the charred ashes.

“Careful, your Grace,” Charlie called.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. “I birthed Freia from a petrified egg. There is no one I’m less afraid of.”

And then he pulled his wand, slowly, as if he didn't want to alarm Freia. Freia snarled, spitting out flames and Harry spun his wand, redirecting the flames away from him as he circled her. Freia was angry and bratty, acting out. She was like Voldemort, in that way. Always wanting more and more until there was nothing left.

Harry stopped when Freia roared over his head, spitting fire straight at Hagrid, Charlie, and Madame McGonagall. Harry threw his hand up, redirecting the flames into the air. He glanced over his shoulder. Charlie and McGonagall had thrown up Shield Charms immediately but, now Harry was enraged.

“I am the _one thing_ in my life that I can control,” Harry snarled. He seethed as he watched his dragon. He stormed up to her as she bucked and seethed. She spat at him, hostile and full of fury. “And _you_ are part of me. So, you will _calm down_.”

He snarled at her and he ignored the awe as Freia spat fire at him and he threw out his hand, throwing it to the side, channeling his way through the plume of dragonfire. When he emerged on the other side, Freia seemed surprised. Harry didn’t hesitate to her press his hands to her head, just between her eyes and stared.

“That’s _enough_ , Freia,” Harry rasped. “No more. I am _here._ With you.”

And they witnessed as Freia seemed to settle under Harry’s touch. Harry slowly sank to his knees, never pulling away from the fearsome creature, never turning away. Freia bowed her head and Harry let out a broken little laugh as Freia settled her enormous head in his lap, slowly curling her body around him.

“You’re a brat, you know that,” he snarled. Freia purred in his lap. “You want attention. And you are hungry. And I have been busy with Hedwig and the war. But, I have not forgotten you, my love. I could not.”

Freia hummed in his lap and settled. Harry only just noticed as Madame McGonagall came up to his side. Freia opened one lazy eye but, did nothing antagonistic. It looked like a welcome change.

“What would you have done if you couldn’t calm her?” McGonagall asked. “Put her down?”

“Not an option. But, she wouldn’t have hurt anyone. That also wasn’t an option,” Harry said and McGonagall’s lips twitched into a thin-lipped smile.

“Your stubbornness is both a hindrance and an asset. You are too stubborn to lose but, too stubborn to listen to reason. What you did was reckless,” McGonagall said, firmly.

Harry looked up at her in outrage. “You all say that I’m reckless. Over and over again. But, this? This is the least reckless thing I’ve ever done. I am not afraid of _Freia_. And her fire could not hurt me,” Harry said, firmly.

McGonagall nodded, conceding his point but, she still looked at him, sternly. “But, look around you.”

And Harry looked.

He blanched when he saw the scorched earth, the flames that still flickered around them from Freia’s tantrum. The fire that he had thrown around recklessly. If anyone had been around, except for Charlie, Hagrid, and McGonagall, they would’ve died in the intensity of the flames.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “Indeed.”

“I’ve gotta...control that better,” Harry allowed, softly.

“You will,” McGonagall said. “Harry, this is war. And your gift with fire is a great asset. One of our greatest assets, just as much as a hindrance. Like your stubbornness. And you will use your stubbornness to _master_ this gift.”

“I don’t have much time,” Harry murmured. “For all this training...it feels like it’s coming to an end. Or something is beginning. I’m not sure which. How do you know I have the power or control? Fate?”

“You are Harry Wildfyre,” McGonagall said. “It’s not about fate or power. It’s not even just about control. It’s about _faith_ , and I have faith in you, Harry Wildfyre, just as you had faith in yourself.”

 

* * *

**WHO**

* * *

 

 

They laid on the bed together, their breaths mingling. Harry didn’t know the last time they had turned away. They didn’t touch. Being in one another’s presence was enough. Harry’s tunic was just a tad too large; it wasn’t his. It exposed the bruises on his collarbone, crafted from war and lust. His green eyes grew darker in the flickering light and his lips curled into a mocking smile, the color of drying, cracked blood. The white cloth clung to his sides, bunched around his thighs, so that creamy skin was open to the air.

“You hate that Cedric is here,” Harry taunted.

It was so quiet but, it sounded like the rumbling of thunder, quick and absolute.

“I do. But, you have secured a powerful ally in Alfheim. We are stronger,” Tom said and he turned on his back, having seen Harry when he was bare, without iron or war.

“You do not like how they look at me. You do not like how Justin stares at me, or how the people that have come here, stare at me. You are a selfish man. I knew that before. But, now it is different,” Harry said, his voice a soft hiss as his hand slithered up Tom’s bare chest, fingernails creating crescent marks around where his heart beat slowly, half-dead. “Now, I know your heart.”

Harry moved swiftly though Tom anticipated the movement. He didn’t stir even as Harry straddled his waist, tunic bunching around his thighs. Tom’s gloves slide over the exposed flesh, resting there. He looked up at Harry. Harry did not smile. Tom didn’t expect him to.

“I do not have a heart,” Tom said, nonchalantly.

Harry laughed. It was a strange sound, a cross between the growl of Hedwig and the shrieking of Freia. It was feral.

“You would swallow me whole, Tom Marvolo, if you could,” Harry taunted. “Or perhaps you would consume me slowly. You would tear through my skin and bite through sinew. You would crack my bones between your teeth and drink the marrow. You would suck me dry until there was nothing but dust and I was all _yours_.”

Harry bent over, pressing a kiss to the skin above Tom’s heart. He looked up, smirking.

“You play a dangerous game,” Tom hissed.

"You would own me," Harry rasped. His eyes hardened. "But, I am not to be owned."

Tom’s eyes flashed and he sat up abruptly. Harry didn’t move from his lap.

"I made you. You will always be mine," Tom snarled. Harry's lips, red like the poppy flowers that grew in the City-States, twisted into a smile that was neither kind nor mocking.

“I belong to Albion. I _am_ Albion now,” Harry promised and he fell forward, pressing his ear against the hollow of Tom’s collarbone. “You are my equal, and still, it is not enough. You have my love—all the love I can spare.”

“Don’t say that,” Tom breathed as he combed his fingers through Harry’s wild curls. Harry purred against him.

“Why not? It’s true. And you could own me too. Only one way,” Harry whispered, tilting his head up and Tom swallowed hard.

He stared down at the cruel beauty. He had been enchanted by lips of blood, and skin of snow, and hair of raven’s wings. But, now, the fairy stories had ended and he was red like Fate’s string, and black as Death’s cowl, and white like Time’s breath, breathing ice and fire into everything until it was nothing but frozen ash.

“Tell me how, then,” Tom indulged.

“You would tell me you loved me too,” Harry said, honestly.

Tom flinched, his arms tightening around Harry.

“I cannot love, Harry Wildfyre.”

"You loved your sisters," Harry murmured. "I know you did. It's how you watch Andromeda, urging her to kneel to me to protect her, because I know you did not do that for me. In how you don't kill Narcissa, can't kill Narcissa, _won’t_ kill Narcissa, even when you promised me you would. How you don’t speak of Bellatrix because it hurts too me. You loved them but, you cannot love me?”

“I cannot love,” Tom repeated, his voice hard.

"I don't ask for anything more than yourself, Tom. Just as you asked me and I have given. Freely," Harry snapped.

Voldemort let out a harsh laugh that cracked through the room like lightning, quick and resonating.

“You have given what you could, just as I have. Your fears and your secrets remain your own. The heart that I have, the bits that remain, belong to me. Let me keep it as I have let you keep your own. I did not ask for it. You gave it,” Tom spat and Harry’s lips quivered and he looked away, shivering in the dark of the night.

Tom pulled the blankets higher. Harry let his eyes shut and his breathing evened out. Tom swallowed hard, sure that he had been heard until Harry spoke again.

Harry, who always needed the last word.

“And it is yours. _Inwi nwaly ten’ke,_ Tom Marvolo. And _eké nwaly ten’n._ ”

 _I ache for you,_ Tom Marvolo. _And you ache for me._

* * *

**IS**

* * *

 

Fleur turned the wheel, slowly, watching it. It did nothing at first. It never did. To the common eye, it was nothing but a spinning wheel, common if a little outdated. No one used spinning wheels anymore, except for Muggles. But, with just the right words, a spinning wheel became so much more.

Softly, she whispered the ancient guttural language of the Veela. The dialect was hard to parse for the other Faes, and an oxymoron, at that. A deep, ground-wrenching language for creatures of the air. But, an oxymoron was required to see the things meant to be hidden to the eye. Fleur slowly pumped her magic into the spinning wheel, turning it over and over again, her fingers never stopping as she spun golden thread from the simplest grain—straw. She wanted to see _everything_ tonight.

On the full moon.

 _“Pokazhite mne proshloe,”_ Fleur breathed, drawing on the magic of the past.

The past came to her in a swirl of magic, as clear as the gold that pooled at her bare feet.

The beautiful boy, from her last vision, was there, standing before a statue with eyes green as emeralds. Flames erupted around him, lighting the way. _Wyrdfod_ , a thousand voices chanted. _WYRDFOD._ The fire cleared away, showing that same boy as a man. Time had barely passed but, this was a man now, standing before an army of creatures, clothed in battle robes, prowling through the sea of an army, a dragon flying overhead. _WYRDFOD! WYRDFOD!_

Fleur wiped at her wet cheeks as she trembled at the sight of him.

The image shifted.

The blonde woman, who she knew now to be Narcissa Slytherin, walked amongst a sea of bodies. She was younger, then, her eyes alight with fury. Her face was painted with cosmetics, her hair pulled back in a warrior woman’s braids. Two little children and old woman. _Little fish...Do not cry, little fish..tears are blood, ill-spilled..._ the words of Narcissa Slytherin echoed. When she turned away, she hummed. What a beautiful voice. The boy wept. The little girl was strange, something about her upturned nose, the color of her eyes...a salt storm on the sea. The little girl snarled, and her whispered words echoed.

_I will drown you, Narcissa Slytherin. I will drown you._

_I WILL DROWN YOU._

“ _Ukaž mi budoucnost_ ," Fleur gasped when the past became too much. The language of the future spun her wheel backward, and still, gold thread pooled, looping between her toes, tieing to her ankles.

Hermione again. Draped in white robes, a green scarf wrapped around her neck like a noose. But, she was running now. Screaming. Weeping. _WYRDFOD!_ But, she wept in triumph. Rage pulsed through her. She had never looked more beautiful. And at her side was a girl, with long silver-blonde hair, almost like a Veela but...not.

Almost like...but, it couldn’t be.

_There are more than the Dtrwies. There are Seven._

Fleur gasped and the image shifted.

A pyre burned and the scent of burning flowers filled her nose. She couldn't see the bodies until there were so many bodies. War smelled like burning flowers and tasted like copper and fire. And standing around the last pyre—a shroud made of irises and lilies and daffodils—were Seven, all with faces she could not see except one. She tried to count them all: War eyes. Mother-moon's hair. Wise maid. Two crowns of flames. Mirrored crone. And the last: a Stranger draped in war.

The image shifted.

Mirrored crone, and pale hair and burning eyes. And again, young and powerful and beautiful, spinning a curse on a wheel that put a land to sleep. And again, a woman with more power in her pinky finger than Fleur would ever possess in her life. And again, the woman walked through darkness, through dreams, a white cloak on her back. A woman that turned elder into power, riverbed rocks into grief, and silk into nothingness. And she smiled a ghastly smile.

_How do you become DEATHLESS?_

Fleur knew her by many names— _Baba Yaga, Marzanna, Frau Trude—_ and none at all.

Fleur saw her own reflection and a full moon, and a woman with a sword of silver and steel and scars on her back.

“ _Ukaž mi Súčasnosť,”_ Fleur cried out, spinning away from the future, looking towards the present.

And Fleur gasped, her back arching as her fingers ran across the spinning wheel. She tried to pull her fingers away but, the spinning wheel turned and turned and turned, until the spokes blurred together into a collage of images, all more terrifying than the last. Fleur's eyes burned as she tried to make sense of each scene.

Gabrielle, her eyes glazed over strangely, was being slammed into the ground. Beaten and scarred. Fleur couldn't look away, though the horror made her want to vomit. She heard and felt every bone crack and grind, knitted together my magic and rage. And when Gabrielle was whole again, she was someone Fleur barely recognized. This Gabrielle ran through the dark woods, a pack of wolves—men, women, and children— at her heels, and Fleur recognized the largest.

_Fenrir Greyback._

A werewolf.

And then there was an apple, just as red as the last she had seen in the spinning wheel.

A door.

The door that must never be opened.

Except, it was. Fleur could see inside. She saw it all. The door should have never been opened.

And Fleur _screamed._

* * *

**FAIREST**

* * *

 

"Thank you for joining us, your Highness, Anthony," Harry said as Cedric entered the room, Anthony on his heels. Cedric hesitated as he saw Harry's council already amassed around the large topographical map of the continent.

Andromeda and Regulus Black sat in front of the topographical map, two empty chairs waiting next to the pair. They were clearly for Cedric and Anthony. Cedric walked forward, taking his seat, Anthony doing the same only a half second behind. Cedric glanced at his friend, and second, but the man only had eyes for Harry.

“What is on the agenda for today’s meeting?” Cedric asked, curiously.

“We amass to discuss the most important things,” Kingsley said firmly. “Coin, war, and allies.”

Harry nodded. He cracked his knuckles. “Before we begin, I want to once again thank our allies, the Alfheimeans.”

There was a round of applause that Cedric did not expect. He squirmed, uncomfortable with the attention but, willing to bear it.

"Thank you. I have recently sent forth a falcon to Madame-General Bones. We are preparing to send three-fifths of our troops here to aid in the war efforts," Cedric said, awkwardly and he squirmed under Harry's pleased smile. Harry turned away from him and sat back in his seat again, looking to Bill Weasley.

“And Bill? You have something to report?” Harry addressed.

Bill nodded. “I have recently reached out to Gringotts Bank. The loan has been confirmed and the Goblin King himself proclaims fealty to you, your Grace,” Bill said.

“A loan?” Cedric asked in surprise.

"I do not have war coffers that extend back centuries as Draco does. I must look to others to help finance my endeavor. My bargain with Gringotts was clear. Lady Warden Andromeda has been a great asset, in this respect, but, soon, the money will run out. We will no longer be able to trade or sell for much longer. Not when I'm discovered here. But, to ensure a loan from the Bank, I had to secure your allyship along with having Lady Andromeda bend the knee. I have both now," Harry explained, apologetically, and if Cedric was shocked or betrayed by the fact that Harry had used Alfheim's financial straits as leverage for the deal, he didn't show it.

“How much is the loan for? How much do we have to spare on weapons after we begin to arm our men and women?” McGonagall asked.

“One million galleons,” Bill said, softly. “And upon his victory, half of it shall be forgiven.”

There was a long moment of staggering silence.

“And...if I don’t win?” Harry murmured.

“No, Harry. Don’t think like that,” Ginny insisted. Harry ignored her, waving Bill along in his explanation.

“All of the creatures that you have freed will be...repossessed and sold accordingly as King Draco decrees. They will have it back in blood,” Bill said, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

McGonagall scoffed. "This is preposterous. When we asked for a loan, we only had high-interest rates to worry about," McGonagall snarled, keeping her fury in check.

“The stakes are higher,” Kingsley allowed.

“You must agree to it,” Voldemort said, looking up at Harry. The rest of the council turned to him, eyes wide. “You know that.”

“I know,” Harry said, softly. “I just...won’t lose.”

“You won’t,” Tonks said, firmly, without any room for argument.

There was a long tense silence before Harry cleared his throat and glanced over at Cedric, nodding once.

“Hmm?” Cedric asked.

“I will reach out to Gringotts, speaking on your behalf on your country’s loan. We will work out a deal,” Harry promised. Cedric’s eyes widened in surprise but before he could thank Harry, the King was already turning away to look at Voldemort. “My Lord, next potential allies?”

“MACUSA is the next ally we must reach out to,” Voldemort said, paging through his small leather notebook and he looked across the table at Andromeda, his eyes narrowed. “Do you still have friends there?”

“Friends? I lost all my friends the minute we committed regicide, brother,” Andromeda scoffed.

There was a long moment of tense silence. The reminder of their sins was blatant and unapologetic. Harry didn’t flinch, only looking between the Slytherins with a solemn look on his face.

“What do we need the City-States for?” Ginny grumbled. “They don’t have a sizeable army and the numbers are growing here. With the Alfheimeans, we’re easily at 20,000.”

Voldemort rolled his eyes.

“But, MACUSA has a fleet,” McGonagall said thoughtfully.

Voldemort nodded. “MACUSA has a fleet,” he confirmed. “A sizeable one.”

Ginny scoffed, turning away from the man to look at Harry. "We don't need a fleet, Harry. What would that do for us? Hogwarts is landlocked," she said, pointedly looking around at everyone at the table.

"That means nothing," Bill said, firmly. Ginny looked surprised that her brother didn't agree with her. "The best way to approach this is to conquer the empire parts at a time. That means hitting port cities, fast and hard. Controlling resources will make controlling the empire easier."

“That’ll take too long,” Regulus said, firmly, looking over at Bill and Ginny.

Harry was still silent, quietly taking in everyone’s opinions.

"If you want the Gilded Throne, take it. We have a dragon and an army. We should hit Hogsmeade now, with everything we have. The city will fall in a day and another day, we'll have Hogwarts," Ginny said, firmly, slamming her fist on the table and Kingsley shook his head, his eyes narrowed on Ginny's face.

“You wish the King to be King of the ashes, then? Thousands will die,” Kingsley said, firmly.

"It's called war," Andromeda said, sharply. The others looked to the Warden of the West, all eyes, and attention on her. "Do you not have the stomach for it?"

"We don't murder thousands in cold blood, Mother," Tonks said, firmly. Andromeda's eyebrows rose as if she were surprised that Tonks had spoken against her. She looked over at Harry, shaking her head. "The people have to love him."

"The people didn't love Bellatrix but, there was never open rebellion, except for the Order," Andromeda retorted. "Common people and nobles are all children, my dear. They won't obey him unless they _fear_ him. After all, when was the last time this empire saw peace? It certainly wasn’t during my father’s time.”

“And who’s fault was that? Your brother’s,” Bill bit out uncomfortably.

There was a long silence when everyone turned to look at Harry and Voldemort. Harry’s face was impassive as he listened to their words, the debate happening around him. He slowly turned to look at the Dark Lord, watching his face.

“You’ve been silent, my Lord,” Harry said, quietly.

“I’ve no time for this squabble. All of you are wrong,” Voldemort sighed.

Andromeda let out a bark of laughter, terrible and mocking. “And may I ask why?”

The Dark Lord raised his wand, ignoring how Cedric and Anthony flinched. The Dark Lord flicked his wand, expanding the map to include the edges of Alfheim, the Laug Republic and the beginning of the City-States.

"An army and a dragon aren't enough. Simply taking Hogwarts isn't _enough_. The war won’t end only because he sits his arse on the throne. The war hasn’t even _begun_ ,” Voldemort said, firmly, as he looked around at all of them. He glanced over at McGonagall and hummed.

She looked thoughtful. “Perhaps, it hasn’t,” McGonagall allowed.

“How do you mean? There have been skirmishes, haven’t there been? Battles?” Anthony asked, curiously.

“Yes…” Harry allowed. He looked at Voldemort, curious. “My Lord?”

"The law is clear," Voldemort said. "As it was for the Tabooed, as it was for my father and his cohorts, so it shall be for you. You must declare war. You must declare it for the world to hear."

* * *

**OF**

* * *

 

Gabrielle stood in front of the door, the keys jingling at her waist. Slowly, she bit into her crisp apple, letting the sticky juices run down her chin, and stain the bodice of her dress. She snapped the book close and placed it facedown on Fenrir’s desk. Gabrielle leaned back against the edge of the large desk, watching the door. She pulled her wand pointed it at the lock.

“ _Alohomora_ ," she cast.

The lock lit up and she waited for it to click open. It didn't. The lock hissed in protest. Gabrielle huffed and took another bite out of the apple, chewing as she mulled over the locking spells she knew. The young woman picked up her book, and flipped through the spellbook again, eyes narrowed as she searched. Her annotations marked the margins. She nodded once and lifted her wand again.

“ _Alohomora Duo_.”

The lock reacted the same and Gabrielle slowly put her apple down, tilting her head as she regarded the door.

The second Delacour daughter had never had any _real_ desire to see what was behind the door, before. She had been so preoccupied with the massive library and the sheer amount of maps that she had poured over. And yet, now, here she was. She was alone in this house, scarred and pulsing with rage. Alone with her husband’s secrets. Her husband’s secrets that had brought her nothing but beatings that was supposed to make her strong.

“Husband...what are you hiding from me?” she whispered. “ _Annihilare._ ”

The entire door rattled, shaking, intended to explode but the lock only glowed for a moment, dispelling the power of Gabrielle’s spell.

“Oh, you really _are_ hiding something, Fenrir. You must know you cannot hide from _me_ ,” Gabrielle growled and she slid off the edge of Fenrir’s desk, gathering herself. And one after the other, she threw spells at the door. “ _Portaberto. Liberare. Dunamis. Aberto!_ ”

The door rattled and shook in its frame but, ultimately, the lock stayed still. Gabrielle scoffed, tossing her wand onto the desk, snatching the ring of keys from her waist. She hadn't wanted to use the key. If she used magic, she could erase all traces of magic, and Gabrielle would be confident in telling him ‘no' in response to the question that he always asked when he returned.

_Did you open the door?_

Gabrielle shook her head. She was tired of secrets and closed doors, especially now that her eyes were open. The young woman pulled her wand up and searched through the ring of keys. She found it easily, pulling it up and pressing it into the lock. It was a beautifully crafted key; brass and skeletal like, almost. As if someone had taken the bones of a hand to twist it into the haunting shape.

She didn’t turn it.

The lock clicked open, ominously. Slowly, Gabrielle pulled it open, peering inside of the dark room.

The first thing she noticed was the stench.

It smelled like the constant taste in the back of her throat—copper. War. _Blood._

“Lumos.”

Gabrielle stopped in the doorway, lifting her lit wand. She stared for a long moment, attempting to make sense of the horrid scene before her. The stitched flesh that formed faces, the pale skin pinned to the walls like pelts. And at the center of it all, was a long silvery mane of hair, like a prize.

The apple fell from her hand and rolled into a puddle of blood.

* * *

**THEM**

* * *

 

“Well, well, Hermione. You _are_ bold, aren’t you?” Blaise drawled. He swaggered into her sitting room. Hermione didn’t flinch, calmly sipping her tea as she regarded her stepbrother. Her tepid smile made his eyes narrow.

“Now, I’m sure you know how to knock, don’t you?” Hermione drawled.

Blaise scoffed. He glanced at Luna, who wandered around the room, humming softly to herself. He looked at Hermione with a raised eyebrow and Hermione rolled her eyes. When Blaise dismissed Luna, Hermione had to hide her smirk.

“You play games that you are ill-versed in playing, sister,” Blaise spat out as he stood before her, towering over her. Hermione only sipped at her tea, looking up at him through her eyelashes, her lips tilted into a clever smile.

“I think I’ve learned how to play the game well. Or you wouldn’t be here,” Hermione drawled.

Blaise scoffed. “You’re a little whore, aren’t you?” he bit out. “And you forget I am the Lord of Whispers. Knowledge is power here.”

And Hermione’s smile widened as she set down her cup.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned, power is power,” Hermione corrected. “I am going to be Queen, Blaise Zabini. And I am not afraid for _your_ station at court.”

Blaise glowered, trembling with suppressed rage. If they were in the Republic, Hermione’s front teeth would’ve been punched out of her face. He’d done it before; the first time he’d hit her. They had been on the cusp of adulthood, her only thirteen years, and him about fifteen. Lady Zabini had sent for a Healer to fix them but, that had been Hermione’s first learned act of violence.

She had learned much violence in Albion.

And she had learned about power too.

Hermione knew that Blaise was _terrified._ If Hermione went, so did Blaise, very much in the same way. Death was a marked end. After all, they were foreign, and Hermione had no doubt that Blaise had had some hand in the strange events that had led up to her betrothal. She knew that Blaise had noticed her at that ball, and he had _wanted_ Draco intrigued by her.

“You will get us killed,” Blaise snarled.

“No,” Hermione corrected. “I will do as I please. I will have any assortment of lovers to comfort me in this hellhole. And if, Barty Crouch is one of them, so be it.”

“A Death Eater,” Blaise snapped. “And a nearly disgraced one. His own father doesn’t want him as an Heir.”

“But, the Dark Lord has taken a liking to him. Fostered him. He’s nearly above you. Does that bother you, step-brother?” Hermione taunted and Blaise twitched as if he wanted to pull his wand on her and strike her dead. Hermione laughed. He wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

“You think you’ve won,” Blaise breathed.

“It’s a long engagement. I’ve no fear of being found out,” Hermione drawled. She stood up, and walked away, towards Luna who hummed to herself as she mended. She stood just beside the girl and Luna looked up at her with sharp, knowing eyes. Hermione suppressed her smile again.

“You’re a fool. The wedding has been moved up.”

Hermione froze. She slowly turned.

And Blaise’s eyes were lit up with triumph.

“What...do you mean, it’s been moved up?” Hermione snarled.

"Narcissa is as uncomfortable and insecure about Draco and Daphne's relationship as much as you are," Blaise said, scathingly, taking pleasure in the heat rising in Hermione's cheeks. "The wedding has been moved up...your _Highness_.”

And Hermione stormed out of the room, pushing past Blaise as roughly as she could. She shoved past servants and Lords and Ladies, ignored Pansy’s tittering with her sycophants. She pushed past guards and Aurors, practically blowing past Lord Crouch and Lord Dolohov as she approached the eagle. She pulled her wand swiftly, ripping at the wards that kept her out, tearing at them, her raw magic welling inside of her, welling with her rage.

The wards healed themselves just as much as she tore at them but, it was just enough for the eagle to leap aside for a moment to allow her entry. Hermione stormed past, running up the stairs. She lit the way with an unsaid _Lumos_ , and when she emerged in the council room—Draco’s office—she allowed herself to breathe.

“What are you doing in here?” Draco snarled.

He sounded more like the man she had known before Goyle had died. Petulant and whiny. An overgrown man-child.

“Your _mother_ moved up our wedding,” Hermione hissed.

Draco stood from behind his desk. Hermione noticed the shattered inkwells against the walls, the broken bobbles, the torn and hastily fixed paintings. The fury that painted the room. So, he knew. Of course, he knew before she did. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if Narcissa had kept it from her until the wedding day.

“I’m aware. I’m not pleased either but, I’m the King. You do not show up here—” Draco began.

“No.”

The growl was low and infinite. Draco paused.

“No?” he repeated.

“No,” Hermione bit out. “I want to go home.”

And she had said it. She had finally said it.

Draco looked at her as if he had never seen her before. Hermione imagined that he hadn’t. He had never seen Hermione in all her glory, and full of anger. He had never seen the edge of desperation that had lurked in her chest, like a shard of broken glass, since her father had died. No, Draco hadn’t ever seen her before.

“You have your wand,” he noticed, sounding almost lost. Hermione looked down at her wand, dangling from her fingers, and she flung it up, pointing at him, as he walked closer to her. “How did you get your wand?”

And he continued walking, towards her, unafraid. Hermione’s eyes slammed shut.

“You will not _touch_ me.”

“I’m not.”

Slowly, Hermione opened her eyes and she stared. Her wand tip was pressed against Draco’s chin. He wasn’t moving, his hands up on either side of his head.

“I could kill you,” she ground out. “I could end you and end the suffering of this country.”

Draco’s lips twitched into a terrible smile. “I don’t want you either, you know. But, you’re good for me. That’s what my mother says. They hate me but, they love _you_ even more.”

Hermione snarled at him, the words on the tip of her tongue.

“I’ve read about the Killing Curse. You have to _mean_ it," Hermione whispered, full of a terribly ugly hatred, one that she had never felt for anyone before. "You've tormented me from the moment we met. You've beaten me. Humiliated me. _Degraded_ me. I would mean it.”

Draco hummed, and his lips curled into that sharp, cruel smile that had made her curious to begin with. She hated that smile.

“This was why...I wanted you,” Draco murmured. “This is why I won’t let you go.”

“Why?” Hermione barked.

Draco tilted his head. “What an ugly, ugly throne. And how ugly it has made me,” Draco whispered. “You were beautiful. You were once beautiful so, so beautiful. I saw you and was bewitched. And you were kind once too. When I met you. Brash and _rude_ but, kind. Beautiful. The Fairest is beautiful too. But, this throne...how ugly.”

“ _Why_ won’t you let me go?” Hermione barked.

Draco laughed, soft and cruel. “You think I am done playing games? My mother was a busy woman. My father was a coward. My uncle ignored me. One aunt ran away. The other was so mad I don’t think she knew who the _fuck_ I was. All I did as a child...was play games. All by myself.”

Hermione pressed the tip of her wand deeper against his jugular, pressing hard.

“You were a prince. You don’t know what being alone means,” Hermione snarled.

Draco raised a pale eyebrow, so pale one could barely see it.

“Pansy? Goyle? Crabbe? I suppose. But, everyone leaves, Hermione, and I am tired of playing games by myself,” Draco taunted, as he stepped closer, shuddering at the pain. Hermione’s eyes widened when she smelled the scent of burning flesh. She jerked her wand back and stare at the blister. It would scar.

“This is not a game. This is a _war_ ,” Hermione snapped.

Draco’s smile widened into a broken grin, full of desperation and mirror shards. “But, it is. It’s a game. And this ugly, ugly throne has made me so ugly. It’ll make you ugly too. So, let’s play the game, Hermione Granger. Tell me...are you having fun yet?”

Hermione ran.

* * *

**ALL?**

* * *

 

It was cold here.

Though he could sometimes see the summer sun, through the haze of clouds, it was always cold. Winter was always here. He had not felt anything but winter in a long, long time. Sometimes, he didn’t think he remembered anything else—as if he had been born into hell, and hell was not fire but, ice. Always ice.

When he remembered that he had been from another time, another place, he remembered the comfort that fire had brought him, once upon a time.

Fire reminded him of a little boy with long black hair. A little boy that had always nipped at his heels, declaring that he'd be an Auror too. Just a child but, the true apple of their mother's eye. He had never minded for fire reminded him of summer lilies and grass. Howls at the moon, and running through the Forest in the shape of wild things. Hazel eyes and brash laughter. A band of brothers, and a girl with flags of fire streaming from her hair, pooling around her feet. And then, he remembered the terrible things too. The blood. The way her open chest must've looked, a mess of ivory smeared red with blood, an emptiness where her generous heart should have been.

And the boy.

 _Wildfyre_ , he thought.

Sometimes, a voice, not his own or any of the other voices in his head—a voice that looked like pale hair and mirror eyes—whispered, _No. Wyrdfod_.

But, he knew him as Wildfyre. He imagined what that boy would’ve looked like when he was a man. Most probably tall and broad-shouldered, like his father. Hazel eyes or green? Hazel, like James. A square jaw like James. Tan-skinned like James. Wildfyre...perhaps, red hair. That would be it. Red hair for the Phoenix.

But, that boy was dead, and he wept with grief.

When he cried, it kept the dementors away. Dementors...they had liked him at first. But, now he was a broken thing, made of grief and bones, and there was no more happiness to eat. He was a carcass, devoid of meat or life. The walking dead.

Sirius Black shivered in the corner of his cell and looked out. The summer sun was smiling today.

But, he was so cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Well, here I am with a chapter finished EARLY for once. I did promise someone that I'd try to get this out by Thursday night, so I've done it. I hope you enjoyed it! I worked super hard on it to get it out, and I actually read it over for once instead of just going through it with Grammarly. So, I think it flows pretty well since I rearranged some scenes.
> 
> Now, I've recently looked at my outline and I was SHOCKED when I realized that after this chapter, I only have 4 more chapters and an interlude before the next arc. I'm super excited! I have the entirety planned out, and I think it would be safe to say that the climax is finally being truly built, with the introduction of our final new character of this arc: Sirius Black. I've been hinting at him for quite some time and I hope that you're glad to see him because I'm glad to see him.
> 
> And, the next chapter is currently being written so, I'll say goodbye to you all! Until next time! Please review!


	11. Chapter Eleven

Hermione held her hands still in her lap as she watched the woman work. The gown was going to be lovely, that much Hermione knew. Madam Malkin was a renowned robe-maker throughout the world. Fleur used to go on and on about her. Hermione wondered what Fleur was doing then, once more. She wondered if Fleur and Gabrielle were happy. Once, Hermione had cursed Fleur's name for what had become of her. Now, Hermione knew that it was all her own doing.

She would play the game.

"It looks promising," Hermione said, politely. She glanced over at Narcissa. The older woman was sipping her goblet of wine as she read over scrolls, looking up from her work every so often to regard Hermione and judge Madam Malkin's progress.

Hermione wasn't lying either. It was a modest gown of lace and silk, high-necked and cinched tight around the waist to emphasize her thin waist. The sleeves were long and open, dragging on the floor. They would drag even though Hermione was tall, nearly of a height with her future husband. The word itself made her want to spew bile. She pushed it aside and glanced at the green scarf that was being made by Madam Malkin's assistant.

When that scarf was draped over her shoulders, then she would belong to Draco’s family. She’d be a Slytherin. Her stomach turned.

Hermione hadn’t wanted to get married but, if she had, she had wanted it to be like the old ways. A knot tied around their hands, binding them for eternity. She had always thought that it seemed terribly romantic though a bit illogical.

“It’s gorgeous,” Narcissa corrected. “You will be a beautiful bride.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. The words were nearly kind though Narcissa said it as if it were mere fact instead of a compliment. Narcissa’s lips didn’t twitch into a smile but her eyes glistened with cruel amusement as she looked at her future daughter.

“I never wanted to be a bride,” Hermione said, slowly.

“What did you want to be?” Narcissa asked.

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “A scholar,” she allowed. “I wanted to study and to learn and to never stop. I wanted to know everything in the world. But, I suppose, you would think this a childish and unrealistic dream.”

“Unrealistic but, not childish,” Narcissa retorted. She seemed amused when Hermione looked at her with surprise. “I know all about dreams, sweet child, and wanting to know the world. You will find marriage will teach you much.”

“Marriage? What will I learn from marriage?” Hermione snapped.

And Narcissa laughed, dark and heady. “A marriage is a private thing. It has its own laws and secret histories and savage acts. We look terrible to you, and severe, but it is all hard won. After all, there is only one question in a house: who is to rule.”

And Hermione could imagine what was going through Narcissa’s head. She still underestimated her, thinking that Draco would rule. Draco, who viewed everything as one great game. But, no, Hermione knew better. Hermione was a better player, by far. She would be the one to rule.

So, she smirked and scoffed, nodding though she filed the information away for later. Let Narcissa think she was a bullheaded, stupid girl—which she might have once been. Hermione would be the one to survive in the end.

“You are beautiful,” Narcissa repeated. “You should pray, sweet girl.”

“Pray for what?” Hermione retorted.

“Pray that you shall never be more beautiful than me,” Narcissa hummed and in that moment, she looked more like her siblings than she ever had. Hermione had always thought it odd that she was like ice, pale and beautiful, while her siblings were dark and war-like.

In that moment, Hermione saw a war in Narcissa's eyes.

“I doubt that I could ever be more beautiful thank you,” Hermione said, truthful. “I’m more dementor than beauty.”

Narcissa hummed, looking away just as the door creaked open. Hermione's lips curled into a sneer as Blaise paraded into the room, as if he owned the place. He nodded curtly to Narcissa, and Hermione saw that he was surprised by Narcissa's presence. She leaned forward, intrigued by how the interaction would go.

"Lady Narcissa, I didn't expect you to be attending, personally, to my sister's wedding fittings," Blaise said, pleasantly, his lips pulled into a cat-like smile.

Narcissa looked at him, unamused. “I will be attending, personally, to every aspect of my only son’s wedding. Does that seem surprising to you, Lord Zabini?” Narcissa asked, coolly and Hermione’s lips curled into a grin against her will when she saw Blaise swallow.

He was intimidated by Narcissa, and who wouldn’t be.

Blaise had years of being a conniving, manipulative little shit.

Narcissa had decades.

"Yes, well. I wanted to check in with my sister. See how the proceedings were going. You'll look lovely, Hermione," Blaise said, pleasantly. Hermione gave a tight, bitter smile. "I did advise on a more Republic style. Of course, to remind everyone that you are, in fact, of foreign origin, and _proud,_ with all the resources you shall be bringing into the family.”

Narcissa hummed. “Ah, Madam Malkin got the note. I revised it,” Narcissa said, slowly turning back to look at her scrolls.

Hermione felt a rush of pride. Narcissa had deigned to give Hermione all of her attention. She treated Blaise like a pet underfoot, barely worthy of eye contact.

“May I ask why?” Blaise snapped.

Narcissa slowly looked up again, her eyes flashing. “Lady Granger is bringing gold to the family, true. But, it is not gold we need. We are making her a _Slytherin_ —an Albion. And this fitting is for those of Albion. That is all, Lord Zabini.”

Blaise ground his teeth and nodded once before storming out of the room, throwing it shut. Narcissa let out a tiny sound of amusement.

“He used to torment me,” Hermione blurted out.

Narcissa looked down at her scrolls again. “I know.”

“Then...then why did you dismiss him?” Hermione asked, softly.

Narcissa stood, suddenly, gathering her scrolls in her arms and moved towards the doors. She didn’t look back when she said, “I had an older sibling once too. Bellatrix was not always kind either.”

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Tonks smiled, softly as she watched the pair of them. Teddy giggled loudly, running away from the growling mess of a man, throwing himself upon Tonks' bed and crawling into her lap. Tonks laughed as Remus skidded to a stop at the edge of the bed, playfully growling. He swiped for Teddy's chubby little leg, ignoring the little boy's protest, choked by laughter. Tonks' smile widened even more.

“You’ll give him a complex,” Tonks teased.

Remus immediately shed his wolf persona and raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think so?” he drawled but, Tonks could hear the worry in his voice as they looked at their toddler, their sweet little Teddy.

“No, I don’t. He knows what you are. And what he is. Really, the fact that he’s the son of a Slytherin has more of a chance of giving him a complex,” Tonks said, self-deprecatingly. She ignored the put-out look on Remus’ face, looking back down at Teddy. She pasted a smile on her face. “Oh, my love, are you afraid of Remus?”

His face was hidden in her shoulder but, she could feel his smile against her skin.

“Yes! I’m ‘fraid,” he lied, smothering his giggles against her skin.

Tonks snorted. "You're afraid of your papa, but you aren't afraid of Andromeda?"

Teddy pulled back, his brows pulled down into a little frown. It was so cute that Tonks had to hide her smile. Teddy didn’t appreciate being treated like a child when he was frustrated or upset.

“Nan Romy give me toys!” Teddy whined and then he rolled off of Tonks’ lap and tucked himself into Remus’ side. Remus looked down at him, eyes wide and soft. Tonks sighed, shaking her head. Even after having him for years, Remus was still in awe whenever Teddy went to him.

“He loves you, Remus,” Tonks reminded the man.

Remus looked down at the boy with a soft smile. “I don’t know why. I’m not around very often.”

"Neither am I. We have a war to win. To make the world better for our son," Tonks insisted, reaching forward and brushing her fingers over Remus' lined cheek. Remus flinched at her touch but he didn't pull away. Not like how he used to.

“Your son,” Remus corrected, softly. “You found him.”

Tonks’ eyes narrowed at his words and she gathered Teddy’s hand in hers and brought it to her lips. Teddy looked at her wide eyes.

“Who am I, my dear?” Tonks asked, pointing to herself.

Teddy whined. “Mama Dowa,” he whined, trying to pull himself away, wanting to play and climb atop Remus’ head again. Tonks didn’t allow it, tugging him closer to her and turning him to face Remus.

“And who is he?”

“Papa!” Teddy shrieked.

Remus looked stricken. Tonks’ lips curled into a soft smile and she nodded, pressing a kiss to the crown of Teddy’s hair, burying her face in his unwieldy turquoise locks.

"Very good, my dear. Mama Dora and Papa. Now, go play with your toys," Tonks murmured. Teddy scrambled from her lap, bouncing off the bed towards the toys. She looked up at Remus, a solemn look in her eyes. Remus stared as if he'd never seen the two of them before. "We're _your_ family, Remus. He is your son. Our son. And we are making a better world for him. Do you understand me?”

Remus trembled, pulling his feet underneath him as he rocked forward before pulling himself back. Tonks felt a wave of sadness crash over her. Remus never let himself have the things he deserved. She wasn’t sure if it was out of grief or as penance for his imagined sins.

“What if we die?” Remus whispered.

And it wasn't the first time that Remus had asked her that question. The first mission they had had together—to take out Abraxas Malfoy, a longtime supporter of Voldemort—he had turned to her and asked her the same question. Tonks had stared at him and thought how this man didn't look like he would've minded dying. Even then, he had wallowed in his grief, letting it eat him alive.

“Then, we die,” Tonks said, solemnly, just as she had said then. She paused, her brow furrowing. “When...when I was with Pandora, she used to ask me all the time what do we say to the Stranger, Death? And the answer: not today. Today isn’t the day, Remus. We all die. One day. But, today, you are _here._ With your family. Do you love us?”

Remus flushed, his cheeks pink. “I...what...I,” he sputtered.

“We love you,” Tonks said, firmly. “I love you. I’m _in love_ with you. And that won’t ever change, even if you aren’t ready to say it back.”

“It still hurts,” Remus said. “I had a family once. My brothers. A sister. Taken away from me by...your uncle. Your mother.”

"Do you blame me?" Tonks said, not unreasonably. She could understand the need to place the blame somewhere. The gods knew that she blamed Pandora for many things, things that weren't all her fault but, things there were too. Tonks hesitated. She hadn't thought about Pandora so much in a long time.

“No. Of course not. I could never blame you,” Remus said, rushed and stumbling over his words. Tonks nodded, a dry smile on her face.

“We’re not replacing the family you’ve lost, Remus. We’re just...additions. And it’s okay not to be over it. You don’t ever have to be. I still...my father’s absence still hurts,” Tonks said, honestly and she looked away. “It’s hard. To see _him_ here.”

“I hate him,” Remus whispered like a secret.

Tonks smirked. “We all do, Remus. There’s only one person in the world capable of loving someone like that. And it isn’t any of us. It’s okay to hate him.”

“I would kill him if I could,” Remus murmured as he looked at Teddy playing with his little carved dolls and soldiers. “How...that man has done heinous things. Things he can _never_ atone for. He hasn’t suffered the way we have. How can we allow him to live in the same world as our _son?_ ”

And Tonks looked at the man she loved as if she didn’t have a secret. As if she didn’t know that the Dark Lord would suffer. He would suffer a story told long ago. He would suffer as all Fateborn did. It was coming as fast as a reflection in a mirror.

Instead, she smiled sadly. “We need him. _Harry_ needs him.”

“And when Harry doesn’t want him?” Remus asked.

Tonks' eyes flashed to the crimson cloak draped over the loveseat. Her lips twitched into a small smile. "Oh, love, Harry's always going to want him. The better question is, what happens when Harry doesn't _need_ him?”

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Fleur pulled her hood over her head, glancing over her shoulder for the third time as she waited for the older man to finish going over the paperwork. She shivered though she was not cold and pressed her wand deeper into her thigh, tracing imaginary patterns. It was an old habit, one from when she had first gotten a wand. Her father had warned her about it, telling her that she was going to blow her leg off but, anxiety brought back all her bad habits.

“Now, Miss Delacour, I want to ask you again. Do you know what this paperwork means?” the portly man asked.

Fleur scowled. "Yes, I know what it means," she snapped, her accent slightly thicker with her irritation. "I have successfully run a shop for years. Of course, I know what it means."

"I only ask because my daughter truly enjoys your work, Miss. I know that she'll be dreadfully sad about your...retirement," the man said, delicately, and Fleur forced a tired smile on her face. She nodded in understanding.

“I...I believe that it’s time for a move,” Fleur excused, demurely. “I only ask that you allow me to live in the upstairs room until I secure passage somewhere else.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Where will you go?” he asked.

“I...don’t know yet. Perhaps Alfheim or the City-States. Albion is not safe. Not with a war brewing,” Fleur said and the portly man nodded in blustering understanding, waving and flapping his hands as he drew himself up to blabber.

“Yes, yes. I would think Albion. After all, your friend, Hermione Granger—”

"Hermione is to be Queen of Albion. She will be fine," Fleur forced out. She sounded so sure that she nearly convinced herself. Her visions echoed in her head, taunting her, and her smile grew tighter as she looked at the older man.

“You’re right, you’re right. Merlin, a Muggleborn has come so far, hasn’t she? Barely a step above creatures and she’s to be Queen. My, my, how the world changes,” the portly man said, cheerfully, ignoring the way Fleur watched him, malice lurking in her eyes.

Her hand tightened around her wand.

"Where do I sign?" Fleur asked instead, reaching for the quill. The portly man slid the contract over to her, pointing to the lines.

“There. Initial there,” he said. Fleur did as she was bid, immediately, not a single moment of hesitation in her eyes. “Why will you not stay with your sister and her husband?”

“I do not wish to interfere. After all, I practically raised the girl. Why would she want her sister-cum-adoptive-mother in her marriage home?” Fleur said, faking a tittering laugh and the portly man boomed out a laugh in agreement. Fleur stared down at the drying ink, her stomach lurching as she realized what she had just done.

She had sold her mother’s dress shop. Her mother’s dress shop that had been her mother’s before her. Fleur couldn’t quite find it in herself to regret it.

“Too true, indeed. Well, this has been a lucrative deal, I must say, Miss Delacour. Now, the payment…” he said.

Fleur slammed her hand on the table, making the portly man jump. She looked at him, unflinching.

“I need you to pay me in Sickles,” Fleur said. She looked at the man with a furrowed brow. “Or...mostly in Sickles. I need 50 galleons, and the rest in Sickles. Is that alright?”

The portly man looked at her, absolutely bewildered. Fleur didn’t budge. She watched as he counted out the galleons, sliding them into one burlap sack and then began the tedious task of converting the rest of the payment into Sickles. Fleur watched with a grim look on her face. When he was done counting and slid the silver into a second bag, Fleur stood at once and nodded at him with a small smile.

“I will make your daughter a wardrobe fit for a queen while I am here as thanks. You have done me a great service, sir,” Fleur said, firmly, and before he could ask, she turned on her heel and flew from the study, practically running out of the house after snatching her money.

She fought back her tears as she pounded down the long road and practically skidded to a stop. There was no time for her tears. Not yet, anyway. There was work to be done. Fleur grabbed onto her hood to keep it atop her head, and she walked into the smithy, her head bent low. She ignored the stares from some of the smiths, walking deeper into the scorching room.

By the time she reached the man she searched for, sweat poured from her brow.

“Are you...are you Unferth?” Fleur asked, softly.

The man didn’t look up, only slamming his heavy hammer atop the blade that he built. He was a broad, terrifying man, with a blonde beard covered in ash. If he tried, he might be able to break Fleur in two but, Fleur was a desperate woman, and the Veela part of her rippled under her skin. Fleur winced, tugging her hood down lower.

“Who’s asking?” the man growled.

"A woman with a lot of money," Fleur snapped back, and the man slowly looked up. His eyes widened as he caught sight of her face.

"Fleur Delacour," he murmured, looking over her with the gaze of a man. Fleur's lips curled back into a sneer. "What's a pretty thing like you doing in the smithy."

“You’re the best swordsmith within thousands of miles. I need you to make me a sword,” Fleur barked and Unferth’s lips twitched into a mocking smile.

“I’m sorry to say, sweet Fleur, a dressmaker’s salary ain’t getting you a sword.”

He turned back to look at his work until Fleur tossed down her bag of silver, staring at him.

“There are over a thousand Sickles in there,” Fleur said firmly. “I want a sword. Made of silver. Anything left, you keep.”

Unferth looked up at her with wide eyes. Fleur stared back at him, unflinching.

“ _Where_ did you get this kind of money?” he hissed.

“I sold my shop,” Fleur said. “Now. You make me a sword. A sword that a young woman about four inches shorter than me could wield. One and a half hands. I need it within a month’s time.”

Unferth was barely paying any mind, looking through the burlap bag as if he couldn’t believe it.

“A thousand Sickles…” he breathed.

Fleur nodded once and she took a step back. “Unferth...make the sword. I need it. Before the next full moon.”

* * *

**ON**

* * *

“You stand in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, the Wyrdfod, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Afallon, the Alpha of the Pride, and the Fairest-of-Them-All.”

Severus looked at the young man for a long moment. Harry Wildfyre stood on the edge of the cliffs, just outside the shadow of his massive dragon, his face still as he surveyed the Death Eaters that the Dark Lord had brought before him. Nymphadora Tonks stood at his side, clearing her throat after her announcement, watching them with expectation.

“My Lord?” Barty murmured.

Lord Voldemort nodded once, never taking his eyes away from Harry.

“You may approach, Death Eaters” Harry Wildfyre called.

Lucius was the first to march forward, unhesitant as he moved towards the King. Severus was only a second behind, and so the rest fell in line. The Dark Lord outpaced Lucius, coming to stand before the King, towering over him. Harry’s lips twitched into a quiet smile.

“ _Melui_ - _âr,_ ” Voldemort said, softly. Harry’s smile widened for just a moment. There was mischief there.

“ _Muin nín,_ ” he responded.

Voldemort’s lips curled into a sneer and Harry let out a harsh bark of laughter before schooling his face. Nymphadora Tonks rolled her eyes but remained as impassive as she could. The Dark Lord stepped to Harry’s left, watching his Death Eaters.

“Your Lord brings you before me for one reason. You will bend the knee to me and pledge your loyalty to my cause,” Harry Wildfyre called.

“And if we disagree?” Yaxley asked, as stone-like as ever.

Harry looked at all of them, his eyes narrowed to show that he was not amused by the immediate disagreement. Severus sighed.

“That isn’t an option,” the Dark Lord said, coldly. “Your will is bound to mine. It is my will that you bend the knee.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Rookwood said, hastily. Rookwood stepped forward, looking carefully at Harry Wildfyre, as if measuring him up. Harry’s lips twitched into a small smile, and Rookwood looked dazed for just a moment before he gathered himself and knelt on one knee. “I, Augustus of House Rookwood, swear fealty unto you.”

As Rookwood swore, Yaxley stepped forward and did the same. Harry cataloged each one as they swore fealty to him. The youngest of them, Barty Crouch, followed after. Harry's eyes flickered over the man's lean form and boyish face, appreciatively. Barty drawled out his swears of fealty, grinning up at Harry while he did so. Tom's face turned down with ill humor as Harry's lips quirked into a tiny smile.

“Thank you for your fealty, Barty Crouch,” Harry drawled as he walked past the young Death Eater.

“You’re welcome, your Grace,” Barty said, a smirk turning up his lips.

"Gods above," Tom snarled under his breath and Harry snorted, shaking his head as he continued on to a pair of twins, marked as Carrows by their blood-red hair and pocked faces. Alecto had a particularly cruel smile in place on her face while Amycus looked wane, with a thin face.

Harry knew that these two would be his main concerns. Tom had assured him that all would fall in line but, Minerva, Tonks, and Ron had told him that the twins had a penchant for torture, especially of Muggles. They were bigots and bullies, and Harry liked neither.

“I, Alecto of House Carrow, swear fealty unto you,” the woman said first.

Harry nodded and looked to Amycus.

"I, Amycus of House Carrow, swear fealty unto you," he said, his voice reedy and strange. It wasn't what Harry would've expected from a man known for his brutality.

“Thank you. I accept your fealty,” Harry said, stiffly, moving on. He paused when he looked one of the last men. He was a small, round man, with watery eyes and thin, wispy hair. His nose twitched like a rat’s. He had never seen the man in his life and yet, he knew. He knew him, immediately. Harry looked over his shoulder. Remus wasn’t there. “You’re Peter Pettigrew.”

“I-I...I am,” Peter Pettigrew said, stammering before he gathered himself up, swelling with misplaced pomp. He looked down his small twitching nose though Harry was taller than him.

Harry tilted his head, curiously. “You were their friend. And you betrayed them.”

“Harry. You look so much like your father. So much like James but...but with Lily’s eyes,” Peter said, nervously.

“Take their names out of your mouth,” Harry said, softly as he regarded this small, little man. “You betrayed them.”

“T-the Dark Lord, h-he’s very...and he offered me…” Peter stuttered.

Harry slowly shook his head. "No. You should've died. To protect them. You should've died. But, you didn't. And you're here. So, you will bend the knee to me. Now," Harry said and the pitiful little man nodded, falling to his knees and bending his head even as he trembled. Harry couldn't find himself to hate him, only feeling saddened that the downfall of his parents all led back to the tiny man in front of him without a spine.

Harry looked over his shoulder at Tom. He felt a rush of affection and equal measures of disgust. Peter Pettigrew had betrayed his parents and yet, wasn’t Harry doing the same? Falling in love with his parents’ murderer. His stomach turned at the thought.

“I-I, Peter P-Pettigrew, swear fealty unto you,” Pettigrew stammered.

"Leave," Harry whispered. "Go back to wherever you came from. And don't come back until you're called. I don't want Remus to see you."

The man looked up at him with wide eyes and disappeared with a crack. Harry stared at the spot that Pettigrew had been in for a long moment, emotions swirling through him. A wry smile twisted his lips. How weak he was, that he couldn’t even look at Pettigrew because it made him reflect on his own faults. How _weak._

“Pettigrew is a coward, but, he has done great work for our Lord,” Snape said, his lips curled.

Harry looked up, suddenly. “I don’t want him here,” he said, softly, his brow furrowed. He turned towards Lucius and Severus. “It’s only you two now. You would swear loyalty unto me?”

“As my Lord commands,” Lucius said, settling on one knee. “I, Lucius of House Malfoy, Lord of Wiltshire swear my fealty unto you.”

Harry nodded in acceptance and then turned to Snape.

Snape gritted his teeth. “I, Severus Snape of Spinner’s End, swear my fealty unto you.”

Harry turned away and looked at Tonks. "Show our friends their accommodations. I am...in need of a moment."

“Your Grace?” Tom said, quietly, taking a step forward. Harry raised his hand, stopping him.

“A moment without you, thanks,” Harry said as softly as he could. Tom stopped abruptly and nodded once, suddenly stiff. Harry turned around and walked quickly away. He stopped before going to Westeron and went around the side of the castle, his intent clear. He looked at the great scaled dragon, curled up, her eyes closed but still awake. “Freia!”

Freia opened one lazy eye and gave a soft snort. Harry walked forward, unafraid and pressed his forehead against the heat of her scales. He reveled in it, how she burned as hot as him, how he could forget when he was with her.

“Freia...I can’t do this,” he confessed to her side and she purred under his touch, wrapping around his body, encasing him in warmth. He sunk to his knees. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She didn’t answer.

* * *

**THE**

* * *

 

Harry was tired of all the waiting and the pomp and circumstance. And yet, here he was again, feeling very much like he was being presented like a prized pet. He tried hard not to roll his eyes as Tonks recited his ridiculous length of titles and he nodded like an automaton when Griphook bowed to him, presenting the chests of gold. Harry looked at all of them, Bill practically right on his heels.

15 chests, all equalling out to make the promised million Galleons. Harry had never seen so much gold in his life. He stood from the onyx throne that didn’t feel quite right to get a closer look.

“Your Grace, where shall I put the gold?” Bill asked, softly.

Harry gestured vaguely over to Andromeda and Regulus who watched with equal appreciation as the rest. Even Andromeda, a member of the wealthiest family in Albion, was impressed by the sheer amount of gold presented to them.

"Westeron's vaults will do. You're a curse-breaker. Curse them. Anyone touches them that isn't you or I, and they suffer. Understood?" Harry asked, clearly.

Bill’s eyes widened but he nodded once in understanding. “Understood. I’ll get some trolls, Hagrid, and my brothers to assist me,” Bill said. He turned to Andromeda. “Will you lead the way, Lady Warden?”

“Absolutely,” Andromeda said, with her carefully unaffected voice.

Harry turned away as they began to work out logistics, looking at the envoy that Gringotts had sent to accompany the gold that had been loaned to Harry and his followers. Griphook looked like any average goblin, short with long twisted ears and a gnarled face.

“Griphook, welcome to Westeron Castle. We hope you enjoy your stay,” Harry said, diplomatically.

Griphook looked at him, carefully, as if considering him, but he made no sign of encouragement.

“I have never been to Afallon. Very few goblins have ventured out of our land in Karnaron,” Griphook volunteered, carefully. Harry nodded in understanding.

"I see. Well, right this way. Your journey was long, and I'm sure you and your...men, are quite hungry," Harry said, leading Griphook from the Throne Hall to the Dining Hall. He hoped that his hesitation wasn't so obvious as he regarded the goblins dressed in armor that looked around as if they were ready to be attacked at any moment. Constant vigilance, indeed.

“My men will leave the second the chests are locked away in the vaults. However, I will dine with you,” Griphook said, gruffly. Harry nodded again and led the way—a small party made of Tonks, Kingsley, Madame McGonagall, and Ron, at his back. “I am surprised that the Dark Lord is not here. I remember he accompanied you to Gringotts.”

"Ah, yes. The Dark Lord is otherwise occupied with settling his Death Eaters here and training alongside Prince Cedric of Alfheim's Adored Ones. If you'll forgive me, the Prince and Princess Consort of Alfheim will be joining us for our meal," Harry said as pleasantly as possible. He would give Griphook no reason to believe that there were ulterior motives though he knew Griphook would believe there to be. Goblins were untrustworthy creatures, and they had good reason to be.

“Very well, Harry Wildfyre,” Griphook said, his lips curled. He looked over at Tonks. “Nymphadora Tonks, we meet again. The crimson cloak suits you well.”

“Don’t pretend you know what my cloak means,” Tonks drawled, her eyes straight ahead. Harry cast her a warning look but, she paid it no mind. “You all are gossips. You know nothing.”

“I suppose we don’t,” Harry said, pointedly, and finally, Tonks flushed, just a bit, pink staining her cheeks.

“What would you have done, Harry Wildfyre, if we had not granted your loan?” Griphook asked.

“Stolen, I suppose,” Harry said, honestly.

McGonagall startled, looking over at him. “Harry,” she began but, Griphook cut her off.

“Broken in? Into Gringotts? It is impossible,” the goblin said, firmly.

“I’m used to accomplishing impossible things.”

"You would've had no chance," Griphook said flatly. "No chance at all. ‘If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours'."

“‘Thief, you have been warned, beware’. Yes, against popular belief, I can read,” said Harry, dryly. “But, I’m not trying to get myself any treasure for personal gain. I’m trying to save four countries. And you were making it very, very hard for me. But, I did what your King asked. Andromeda Slytherin bent the knee. The creatures call me Wyrdfod. Alfheim has come to me with allyship. As I said, I’m used to accomplishing impossible things.”

Griphook looked at him, dryly impressed and nodded as they continued towards the Dining Hall.

“If there was a wizard of who I would believe that they did not seek personal gain,” Griphook said, finally, “it would be you, Harry Wildfyre. You have shown kindness and respect that creatures do not expect from wand-carriers.”

And Harry looked down at the goblin very seriously, coming to a stop just outside the hall where Cedric and Cho waited, ready to persuade the goblin envoy to a loan.

“I swear to you, on my _name_ , that you will never be mistreated here. You will be regarded with the respect all living beings should be regarded with. You are not lesser than me. We are _equals_ ,” Harry said firmly. And Griphook looked at him for a long time, his face twisting.

If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think the goblin was almost smiling.

* * *

**WALL**

* * *

 

“Hello, sweetling.”

Voldemort swept into the room, looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow. The King of Albion sat on the edge of the flat map, swinging his feet that just brushed against the ground. Harry swallowed down any hesitation, crooking his finger forward at the man that he had not had the time to see since the Death Eaters had arrived just days before. Between Griphook and training the troops, they hadn’t seen each other except for dinner times and perhaps when they fell to sleep, too tired to do anything but fall into slumber’s embrace.

"Oh, I haven't been called that in a long time, _muin nín,_ ” Harry said, his lips curling up into a smile as Voldemort walked up to him, stepping into the vee of his legs, long fingers wrapped around his thighs.

The Dark Lord brushed his nose against Harry’s, kissing along his cheek, mouthing at the skin where his jaw met his neck. Harry leaned back on his hands, arching his neck. Tom’s hands slid up and down Harry’s thighs, teasing him, taunting him.

“You taste so sweet, Harry,” Tom murmured against his ear, sucking gently on his earlobe. Harry mewled softly and Tom’s grin widened. “I’ve tasted you everywhere. The most _private_ —”

“Tom,” Harry warned, panting. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Tom hummed as Harry dragged his hands up the man’s back.

“Oh, you’ll finish. And so will I. Preferably, inside of you,” Tom growled and Harry snorted as he slotted their mouths together, hungrily licking into the Dark Lord’s mouth.

Tom returned as good as he got, their lips moving together. Tom hitched Harry’s thighs up around his waist and drew him closer, one hand holding onto the small of his back and the other tangled in his messy hair. Harry wound his arms around Tom’s neck, moaning into the filthy kiss. Everywhere Harry touched, Tom’s skin was on fire. The Fairest was a greedy lover, and Tom liked it, for once. Harry pulled back, panting hard, his cheeks flushed.

“Fuck me,” Harry said, immediately.

Tom’s eyes brightened. “As you w—”

The door swung open and crashed into the wall with a loud crack. Harry flinched away from Tom so hard that he stumbled off the table, straightening his robes and running a hand through his messy hair. Tom's eyes narrowed.

“Andromeda,” he drawled.

“Brother,” Andromeda said as she swept inside, waving her wand as she Summoned four chairs to sit right in front of the map. Harry’s cheeks were bright red as he looked down, refusing to make eye contact with the woman. “My daughter said that the King entered and you followed quickly after. I thought it prudent to warn you that the Council, along with the Prince of Alfheim, Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, and Rodolphus Lestrange await entry to the war room.”

Harry nodded, turning his back on the two Slytherins and clearing his throat. “I...er...yes. We weren’t doing anything wrong,” he blurted out.

Andromeda snorted and Tom sighed.

“Harry…” he sighed, shaking his head.

Harry turned back around, his face now only a light pink.

“We _weren’t_ ,” Harry insisted.

Andromeda hummed. “Your Grace, I can taste your arousal in the air. My brother was about to fuck you over this war table. Alas, there is work to be done.”

“Shut up, Dromeda. You speak out of turn,” Tom said, snippily as he took Harry by the arm and guided him to their chairs. He paused as he looked at the King. Harry was nibbling on his kiss-swollen bottom lip and Tom groaned. It was red and spit-slicked and Tom wanted to _bite_ him.

“What?” Harry asked, quietly.

Tom didn't answer, only grabbing him by the chin and giving him a filthy kiss, sucking and biting his bottom lip. Harry groaned into his mouth.

“Brother, keep your _cock_ in your trousers, gods,” Andromeda berated.

Harry flinched, jerking away from Tom and shaking himself. “ _Tom_ , you can’t just...in front of your _sister_?”

“My sister has caught me balls-deep in a woman before,” Tom drawled as he turned to Andromeda, his eyes full of a challenge. Andromeda sneered back at him as she went back to the door, and nodded, most probably to her daughter.

Tonks entered first, moving towards her seat, her red cloak dragging behind her.

“Are you _done_?” Tonks said, snippily.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Just about, yeah,” he retorted.

Tonks’ lips curled into a smile as she bumped into his side, lightly. The rest followed suit and Harry smiled at them all. He gave a jaunty wave to Cedric as he sat down and winked at Anthony, who stood behind Cedric’s seat. Anthony’s cheeks turned pink and it made Harry’s smile widen. He nodded at Severus, Lucius, and Rodolphus. Severus and Lucius sat, leaving a final seat for Andromeda while Rodolphus elected to stand. McGonagall looked over at Harry, expectantly.

“I call this meeting to order,” Harry said, firmly, watching the map ripple and change to suit his needs. He relaxed as he looked around the table. “Welcome to my table, Death Eaters.”

“Thank you for the invitation, your Grace,” Severus said, and Harry’s eyes narrowed at the careful vitriol dripping from the man’s tongue. Utterly polite but no one could mistake his tone for anything but contempt. Harry cleared his throat and looked away from him.

“Tonks, you received intel,” Harry said.

Tonks nodded once. “Aye. The wedding has been moved up.”

Tom and his Death Eaters startled.

“Narcissa has told me no such thing,” Lucius protested.

"You abandoned your wife. Of course, she hasn't told you anything," Tom snarled as he rounded on his niece, his nostrils flared with fury. His hands were clenched tight on the armrests, knuckles bone white with fury. "What do you mean she has moved up? It was to be a long engagement."

“Hermione Granger must be proving dangerous,” Andromeda murmured to herself. The others looked at her with varying degrees of surprise. “She is an intelligent girl. Perhaps, she’s learned to play the game.”

“She’s a fool. And foreign,” Tom barked.

Cedric’s eyes narrowed. “My Lord, her foreignness does not mean she cannot play the game of court,” he retorted and Tom sneered.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Watch yourself, Cedric. You are a guest in _my_ empire, and Lord Voldemort is _my_ Chancellor. If he is to be chastised, I will do so, thank you. And Lord Voldemort, please _do_ stop underestimating people due to their ‘otherness’. It’s dangerously close to bigotry,” Harry said, sharply. Before he could watch Cedric and Tom’s indignation, he looked over at McGonagall, his eyes narrowed as her face moved. He knew that expression. She was planning. “What are your thoughts on the matter, Madame?”

“Narcissa will want an Heir, of course. This is logical,” McGonagall allowed.

“The people love Hermione Granger,” Ginny interjected with wide eyes. The others turned all of their attention to her. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“This is true. She is foreign, yes, but new blood is good. Beautiful. A Muggleborn. She’s relatable,” Bill said. He said the word ‘relatable’ like it was poison.

“Then why on the Seven’s green earth would Cissa tolerate her?” Lucius interjected.

Harry turned sharply on the man. Lucius Malfoy. Sometimes, he forgot that the man had been married to Narcissa Slytherin, though he wasn’t sure how. Draco was the spitting image of his father’s, in some light, and the spitting image of Narcissa, in others. No matter, Draco had the paleness and sharp face that Lucius possessed. And Lucius possessed intimate knowledge of Harry’s opponents.

“Explain,” Tonks prompted.

Lucius sneered at her but, did as he was bid. "My Lord, you know Narcissa. She puts as much stock in beauty as you and the late Queen. She will not tolerate someone better-liked, better-loved. After all, when she was insulted gravely, she slew those men in the middle of the court. So, _why_ would she move the wedding?” Lucius challenged.

Severus paused. “Daphne Greengrass.”

“All of these names,” Harry drawled, shaking his head. “Daphne Greengrass...the girl that was fostered by the Longbottoms. Who are her parents?”

“She’s of no noble blood but, the people love her like a Lady,” Voldemort said, his brow furrowed. He folded his fingers together. “I never questioned her presence. Essetir was Narcissa’s domain and once she had Crouch murder the Longbottoms, it no longer mattered. _They_ no longer mattered.”

"Draco is enamored with her. The Greengrass girl. And she is controlled by the Longbottoms. And though Narcissa does not see Granger as a threat, she will see _Augusta_ as a threat,” Severus explained and Harry knew that name, nodding quietly. The widowed matron Lady of Longbottom.

“This is the time to act. We strike Hogwarts during the wedding!” Ginny said, firmly, and McGonagall finally looked almost thoughtful at her idea.

“No,” Tonks protested. “The wedding is not in the capital.”

“Where?” Harry barked.

“Essetir,” Lucius murmured. They all turned to look at him. “Crouch is loyal to Narcissa. Narcissa knows Essetir well, just as well as he. They will have it in Essetir, to declare dominance over the region as well as intimidate the Longbottoms.”

“Then, we will go to Essetir,” Harry decided. He leaned forward, peering over at the map. He lifted his wand, pointing to one particular stronghold. “There...she’ll have it there.”

“Rowena’s haven. It’s…” Andromeda said, immediately, and she trailed off, looking at Tom. Tom stared at the grand castle, a strangely blank on his face. Harry looked at the man with a furrowed brow.

“What is it?” Harry murmured.

“Helena was born there,” Tom said, coolly. Harry winced, staring at the man. Tom looked up and around at the table, and nodded, slowly. “Narcissa and Helena...were playmates.”

Andromeda scoffed. “They were far more than that, Tom. Don’t pretend.”

“You’d believe a children’s story. That they were soulmates?” Tom asked.

“No. I don’t believe in stories,” Andromeda said, dismissively. “But, Narcissa hasn’t been the same since you killed Helena.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry snapped before the squabble between siblings could escalate. He looked around at the table and sighed. “I thought it would be there because it’s the most easily defendable and it’s under Slytherin control. They wouldn’t be hosted by another family. It makes the most sense.”

“The Essetirenean families aren’t all loyal to Narcissa but, they don’t have to be,” Tonks interjected and the others turned to her, looking with curiosity. “House Longbottom is in shambles, led by a weak Lord and an old woman, and as long as House Crouch is there, everyone else will fall in line.”

Harry nodded in understanding.

“We will bring the battle to them. I will declare war before all the noble Houses, and they will no longer be able to ignore my claim,” Harry said, firmly.

Severus’ lips curled into a sneer. “And how will you assert your dominance?”

“I do not come to destroy their cities, burn down their homes, murder them and orphan their children. I’m not here to murder. I will offer them a choice,” Harry said, looking at him with a careful expression. He searched the man, wondering where his disdain came from but could read nothing in those pitch black eyes.

“So, bend the knee or die?” Severus retorted.

“None are innocent in war. They made their choices. Either to side with the Slytherins or to stand idly by. Both are _wrong_. They should’ve died rather than betray their ideals or good people,” Harry said firmly and Severus snorted.

“And you would die, _boy_?” Severus spat.

Tom twitched at the disrespect even as Lucius grabbed onto Severus’ wrist.

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry snarled. He turned to look at all of them, his eyes narrowed. He turned to McGonagall. “We will attack the wedding. We will save the Lady Granger, we will declare war on Draco and Narcissa Slytherin, and we will let the world know that I am _here_.”

“Yes, your Grace,” McGonagall said, immediately.

“And what about the Death Eaters?” Ginny interjected, her eyes full of mistrust as she looked at the three Death Eaters with distaste. “How do we know where their loyalties to lie?”

“They belong to me,” Tom snarled. “They do as I say and I say they follow his Grace.”

“And yet, there are Death Eaters missing, Uncle. Ginny raises a point that shouldn’t be ignored. They are outsiders. They haven’t proven themselves as the Lestranges have,” Tonks said, attempting to mediate the rising tensions in the room. She leaned forward, her lips pursed. “Dolohov isn’t here. Nor is Rowle or MacNair. How can we be sure that others won’t defect?”

"We test them," McGonagall interjected. The others looked at her in surprise.

“They...fight alongside _us_ ,” Bill drawled, doubt filling his entire expression.

Cedric cleared his throat, nervously. “They...they are a good asset,” he seemed uncomfortable when everyone turned to look at him. “Rodolphus Lestrange and Severus Snape are considered two of the greatest swordsmen in the world. They were all trained by the Dark Lord, the most powerful wizard in the world. There’s no denying how useful they are. So, give them a trial run.”

“A trial run,” Harry repeated, softly to himself.

Kingsley leaned forward. “The Parkinsons have been overtaxing the city in their domain to maintain the daughter’s lavish lifestyle. She’s the King’s…” Kingsley trailed off, as if catching the word before it escaped from his tongue. Harry knew what he wanted to call her.

_Whore._

Harry nodded once. “Then, we send the Parkinsons a message. And the Death Eaters will be at my backs to do it.”

* * *

**WHO**

* * *

 

“This is not wise,” Moody said, coldly as he looked around at his circle.

Fendwick leaned against the wall, staring out over the camp, his eyes narrowed. McKinnon was as attentive as ever while Vance wrung her hands nervously. Moody turned to look at Minerva. The woman was waiting for his explanation, her eyebrow raised.

“Tell me, Alastor,” Minerva said. “Convince me.”

Moody scoffed. “I need to _convince_ you? Death Eaters, Minerva. You know as well as I that this will not end well. The ‘King’ is a fool,” Moody said, firmly. Minerva pursed her lips, her hands folded in her lap. “I have turned my head away from this for too long. The King is compromised.”

“Madame, the King and Voldemort are fucking,” McKinnon announced, her head held high, inflated with self-importance. “We must suspect _everything_ he does.”

“We mustn’t do anything, Marlene,” Minerva scoffed, shaking her head. “Who the King takes to bed will not affect his politics nor will it change him. Do you really think it would?”

“I think he is like every other man. Lead by his cock,” McKinnon debated.

“Then you don’t know the King at all,” Minerva said, dismissively. She ignored McKinnon’s flush, turning back to look at Moody. “I must say Alastor, you’ve convinced me of nothing.”

“The Death Eaters are brutish bullies that murdered and tortured the Muggle population of this empire for _fun_ during Bellatrix’s reign. They will continue to do the same, no matter that they bent the knee to Harry. Voldemort is the same. He’s up to something. Mark my words, Minerva,” Moody snarled and Minerva shook her head.

“You are paranoid.”

“Constant vigilance,” Moody hissed. “If Albus had been vigilant, he wouldn’t have been _killed_.”

“Don’t use Albus to justify your words,” Minerva retorted. “Yes, I have doubted Harry, many times, through this journey. But, he has proven himself, over and over again. The Unbreakable Vow is, as I said, _unbreakable_. The Death Eaters are loyal to Voldemort, who is loyal to Harry.”

“Voldemort is _manipulating_ him,” McKinnon interjected.

Minerva rolled her eyes.

“Minerva, you can’t pretend this isn’t dangerous,” Fendwick sighed, finally looking away from the window to look at one of his oldest friends. “Perhaps Moody sounds...paranoid. But, you can’t ignore the facts. Harry is in love with the Dark Lord.”

“And the Dark Lord is in love with him,” Minerva retorted, simply. Fendwick and Moody looked at her in disbelief, but Minerva’s lips twisted into a wry smile as she looked at the two men. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it. Gentlemen, this works to your agenda, does it not?”

“How so?” Moody growled.

“The most dangerous man in the Empire is under the control of our esteemed king. He shall not harm another. He is but a dog called to heel,” Minerva said and if Moody had thought that Minerva’s disdain for the Dark Lord had died some, he heard the carefully reigned fury in her voice.

Minerva was always a shrewd woman. She had endeared herself to Harry, in a way that Moody and Fendwick could not. She allowed the King to make his own decisions and mistakes and carefully taught him when he was wrong. Moody had once thought that she was allowing Harry to run wild and reckless, but he could hear the hatred in her voice as she spat the word ‘dog’. She was affectionate of the King but there was no love lost between her and the Dark Lord.

It soothed him some to see that there was still _some_ logic in Harry’s Council.

“And what of the King’s choice of Council? It’s made of children and Slytherins,” McKinnon spat.

“One Slytherin,” Minerva corrected as she finished her goblet of wine. She lifted her wand and tapped on the edge of the goblet, filling it again. Moody’s gnarled lips twitched. Minerva had always been good at that particular charm.

“Do we forget that Tonks is Andromeda’s damned _daughter_?” McKinnon retorted. “She flaunts it well enough, now.”

“She was once a whore. And now, she’s an uppity heiress,” Emmeline said, spite in her voice. Minerva’s eyes flashed at the word but, she said nothing in response, waiting with her lips pressed thin.

“Tonks has been nothing but loyal from the beginning and she hasn’t changed a single bit. She will _always_ have the empire’s best interests at heart,” Minerva retorted and Fendwick took a step forward, his eyes flashing.

“The King’s or the empire’s best interests?” he challenged.

Minerva scoffed. “I thought they were one and the same. The King _is_ Albion. And he will continue to do what is right for the empire. What must he do to prove himself to you all? He is but a man. A fallible human. Must he be a god too?"

“I’d rather not,” Fendwick said. “Narcissa is called Godkiller for a reason.”

There was a long silence, full of a heaviness that none could name. None of them had ever seen Narcissa in battle. But, they knew that she was, perhaps, the only one alive that could stand before the Dark Lord and have a hope of taking him down.

“Do you...do you really think that Harry can kill Narcissa _Godkiller_?” Emmeline whispered.

Minerva’s brow furrowed. “I hope so.”

Moody growled, limping away towards the door, finished with the conversation. He looked over his shoulder with one whizzing blue eye and hissed, “Harry Wildfyre’s recklessness and foolish trustworthiness will get us all killed, Minerva McGonagall. He will burn us _all._ And then what will it all be for, when there is nothing but snakes and ashes?”

Minerva stood up, sharply, slamming her goblet down. She looked at the man, lifting her chin.

“Then, like Albus, we will die fighting for the right reasons.”

* * *

**IS**

* * *

 

“Gabrielle! Where are you?”

She debated on ignoring his call. She thought about picking up her steel and creeping down the stairs, blade and wand in hand, and tearing him apart. She would do it, slowly; make him feel the pain of those girls. Shave his head. Skin him. Hang the werewolf pelt on her wall. Roll around in the puddle of his blood, permanently staining the silver of her hair pink. _Rage, rage_.

Gabrielle took a deep breath and bit deep enough into the apple that her teeth scraped the core. She slowly chewed, tasting the crispness, reveling in the crunch of the fruit, the soft bitterness of the skin. She swallowed, wiping away the juices, making her wrist sticky. And then, she smiled and turned the corner.

She wasn’t surprised when she still felt that soft rush of love and affection, despite the rage that warred in her bones. Gabrielle would always love Fenrir Greyback as she much as she despised him. She thought that she might’ve despised him since he had allowed Deyanira to beat her. He hadn’t ever touched her himself, but complacency was the same thing. Deyanira had scarred her and _he_ had allowed Gabrielle to be scarred.

“Welcome home, Fen,” Gabrielle laughed, rushing at him, looping her arms around his neck. He picked her up by her wasp waist and spun her around, giving his low gruff laugh. He looked at her in surprise, searching for the girl that he once knew.

He found remnants of her, a memory disrupted by the new sharpness of her smile, and the knowledge in her eyes. There was a moment where they stared at each other, everything laid bare. She told him that she knew him to his bones, knew the savageries he had committed with his claws. He saw her and saw the Stranger, instead.

The moment ended and instead, he crushed her close and pressed their lips together. Gabrielle ravaged him, their tongues tangling and she bit his bottom lip hard, tasting copper on her tongue, in the back of her throat. Like always.

She pulled away and blood dribbled down his chin, into the grey scruff of his beard.

“You certainly missed me, didn’t you, Miss Gabrielle?” Fenrir teased as he placed her down on the ground. Gabrielle grinned up at him.

“Did I say that? I had all the books in the world to keep me company,” Gabrielle teased as she backed away towards the stairs, never taking her eyes away from him. She would never look away from him again. “And my fingers.”

“Your fingers, hmm?” he growled, taking a step forward, watching her thin frame. “You know, Miss Gabrielle, I seem to remember something you said before I took my leave.”

"Do you really?" Gabrielle laughed, softly. She knew exactly what he spoke of. She turned on her heel and walked up the stairs, confident that he would follow. He made a soft sound of surprise when she walked right past his bedroom and towards the library. She glanced over her shoulder. "Is that so, Mr. Greyback?"

“Woman, where are you leading me?” he demanded.

“I thought you’d be hungry. You’ll need your energy for when I ride your cock until you collapse,” Gabrielle drawled. Fenrir let out another loud bark of laughter and allowed her to drag him towards their table, where meats and cheeses and bread were spread out before them. Gabrielle pushed Fenrir down into a seat and she settled on his lap, plucking a grape up and pushing it to his mouth.

“You are a menace,” Fenrir drawled as they ate, taking turns feeding each other wines and cheeses and bread, all hearty things that made them feel fat and drunken and alive. Gabrielle wrapped her arms around Fenrir and buried her face in his neck.

She memorized the scent of him—the rich earth, bright copper, sweat. She would memorize the cadence of his voice, the feel of his body. The color of his eyes.

“Do you love me?” Gabrielle whispered.

Fenrir stilled and slowly, he pressed his hand to his back.

“Have I never told you how I adore you?” Fenrir said, straining to tease. Slowly, Gabrielle looked up at him with pale eyes.

“No,” she said, flatly.

“I love you, Gabrielle Greyback.”

Gabrielle wanted to ask, _Did you love the others too? Before you murdered them and put them up like trophies?_

“I love you too,” Gabrielle whispered, full of trembling honesty and she brushed her nose against his, brushed her lips against his, memorizing the shape of his mouth, the taste of his tongue.

She wanted to remember it all after he was dead.

* * *

**FAIREST**

* * *

She was not a subtle girl, for all her preconceived notions. She flushed when she saw his son, looked down with her brown bird eyes, and grimaced whenever she saw her betrothed. She was also a lonely girl, and so it was not surprising to see her sneaking out of the library after another tryst with his son, just after her final wedding robes fitting. She tried to smooth out her hair, and her little maid—the tiny blonde with the enormous eyes—tried to fix the laces of her robes, but she looked as she did. Like an unfit, foreign whore.

Bartemius waited for his son as he watched from the alcove as the Lady Granger disappeared down the hall. When Barty swept out of the room, running his hand through sweat-drenched hair, Bartemius’ lips curled into a sneer.

“You’re a stupid boy, Barty. You always have been,” Bartemius growled, slowly walking from the shadows. Barty didn’t seem surprised to see him, instead glancing over at him with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, Father.” Barty spat the title like poison.

"You will stop seeing the future queen, immediately, boy. That's an order," Bartemius hissed, grabbing Barty's forearm and dragging him out of sight, down one of the more forgotten hallways of Hogwarts Castle. Barty ripped himself out of Bartemius' grip, his lips curled into a sneer.

“The future queen needed someone to recommend her books. I was only doing as Lady Granger asked,” Barty barked, running his hand through his hair again, his tongue flashing out in that nervous tic that Bartemius had tried to break him of.

“So, you were searching for books under her skirt? I do _not_ suffer fools, my son, and so, I shall not suffer you. You will cease fucking the future queen. That is your King’s betrothed,” Bartemius roared, spittle flying to mark his son’s face. Barty didn’t flinch. His son’s face was twisted in fury.

“I don’t give a damn about the King! Do you see how he treats her? He abuses her, humiliates her—”

“And she is his to do with as he pleases,” Bartemius snarled back. Barty scoffed.

"She belongs to no one but herself," Barty retorted and Bartemius stared at his son for a very long time before he laughed, long and spiteful. Barty's brow creased into a frown. "What?"

“Do you _love_ her?” Bartemius mocked. “Do you really fancy yourself in love with the foreign slut?”

“Don’t call her that!” Barty shouted.

Bartemius shook his head. “My, my, you _are_ a fool, Barty. She doesn’t give a damn about you. She’s using you. She will marry the King, don’t you realize? Their marriage will permanently secure her place in court. Lord Zabini won’t have this. The King won’t have this. Lady Narcissa won’t have this.”

“I’m not afraid of any of them,” Barty said, so bright and bold and brash and, ultimately, so young.

Bartemius looked at his young son, so in love with the idea of love. He didn't see Hermione Granger for what she was. She was trying to survive, by any means necessary. She was the type of woman that would calculate every mistake that could possibly befall of her. That meant she knew what could happen if she was caught with Barty.

“You should be, boy. You should be _very_ afraid,” Bartemius hissed, spitefully. “What are the House Crouch words? What are they?”

Barty sneered, looking down at the stone beneath their feet. “Justice. Honor. Duty,” he spat, with disdain. Bartemius’ hand flashed out, catching him by the collar, yanking him forward, as if he were still a boy. Barty still was a boy. A reckless boy.

“You will _not_ threaten this family’s high station,” Bartemius hissed dangerously. Barty stared at him with hateful eyes. “I suspect that Lady Narcissa sees value in me. Soon, she will find a place for me amongst the King’s advisors. You will not threaten that.”

“Get your fucking hands off of me,” Barty growled, pushing the man away and storming away, his hands blazing.

“You will not be a disappointment!” Bartemius roared after him.

Barty staggered to a stop. He turned around, bewildered awe on his face. He let out a broken laugh, wiping away tears of fury from his cheeks. He pointed his wand at his father's face, trembling with anger.

“A-a disappointment? _Me_? I am the best son you could’ve _ever_ had!” Barty roared.

“How so?” Bartemius scoffed. “Look at you. You’ve no wife, no position, no political clout. What use are you to me?”

“You have no _right_ to call me a disappointment!” Barty roared, the end of his wand glowing with untamed magic. “You have no right to be _disappointed_ in me when you didn't even raise me! I am a well-trained swordsman. I am a horseman. I have the ear of the future queen and I'm a Death Eater, one of the best wizards in this damned empire. I don't give a _shit_ if you’re disappointed.”

“Watch your _tongue_ , boy, or—”

“Or what? You’ll disown me? I’m the only blood you have, you arse of a man,” Barty retorted, backing away, shaking his head.

“You are my _son_ —”

“No, I’m not,” Barty spat. “I may have your name. Your blood. But, I am not your son. I haven’t been your son since you gave me _away_ to the man that I do consider my father. Speaking of that man, I’m being Summoned by him. So, fuck you. Fuck your name. Fuck your blood.”

* * *

**OF**

* * *

 

The Parkinson soldiers were conniving though cowardly.

It gave Harry great _pleasure_ to permanently silence more than a few. He spun, whipping sword around, slicing through another throat. He bared his teeth as blood splattered his cheeks and he lifted his wand as two more soldiers themselves at him, intent on taking him down after he had slaughtered a neat dozen.

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

“ _Imperio!”_

Harry's eyes widened. Yaxley's Killing Curse hit its mark, and the soldier dropped like a marionette whose strings were cut. Barty's curse hit a soldier, and when he didn't drop, Harry's brow furrowed. Barty slowly twisted his wand, his eyes glowing ominously in flames and moonlight. He took a step closer, barely regarding Harry.

“Barty was trained by the Dark Lord since he was a child. He has a...particularly brutal quality to his fighting style,” Yaxley said, not quite clearing up Harry’s confusion.

Barty’s lips curled into a terrible smile. Softly, he hissed, “Kill every man with your mark on their chest. Let your face be the last they see.”

“Yes, Master,” the soldier said, blankly.

He turned on his heel, marching soullessly towards another duel between Kingsley and Rookwood against six other soldiers. Harry's jaw dropped when the soldier sunk his sword between one of his comrade's shoulder blades. Kingsley winced, his eyes wide. He glanced over at Harry and Barty waved, waggling his fingers jauntily.

“W-what was that?” Harry hissed.

“The Imperius Curse. The least used of the three Unforgiveables but, a personal favorite of mine,” Barty said, turning his back on the massacre his soulless automaton was delivering upon his former compatriots. “You fight impeccably, your Grace. My Lord trained you well but, there’s something natural about your grace and form.”

His eyes roved over Harry’s body appreciatively. Harry grinned.

"Stop flirting with our Lord's lover before you find yourself in the ground," Yaxley grumbled. "We have a battle to finish."

Barty rolled his eyes, winked at Harry before turning back and throwing himself into the fray. Harry swallowed hard, looking around, trying to decipher the chaos. Kingsley had moved on, Rookwood on his heels. Ginny, Ron, and the twins were ferrying innocents from the battle, protecting them with Shield Charms. Hannah Abbott was running around, Healing the wounded with Susan at her back. Cho had drawn the line at Cedric and Harry had agreed. Cedric would be wasted in a raid such as this.

“Go!” Yaxley insisted. “I’ll watch your back.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the insistence in Yaxley’s voice, and he nodded. He jumped into the fray, swinging his sword, with a spell on his tongue. He never knew how to measure time when he was in battle. Each death felt like both a thousand years and less than a second. It was becoming easier and easier to finish someone, to end them like they didn’t have families or children or loved ones. He reminded himself that these people _murdered_ and _tormented_ and _tortured_ innocents for nothing but gold or even, fun _._

That was unforgivable.

“ _Sectumsempra!_ ” Snape cried out, and another soldier was nearly cut to ribbons, the spell shredding open his battle robes and chest, spraying Harry’s cheek with blood as he ran past. Harry spun slamming his sword into the man’s back, ending him for good.

He ripped out his sword and continued running without a glance back at Snape’s face.

"How much more do you think we have?" Harry shouted as he parried another blow, his back pressed against Yaxley's.

“Maybe two dozen! We’re making quick work!” Yaxley shouted.

And they were. There had been 120 Parkinson soldiers to their 20, seven of them being Death Eaters—the ones Harry wasn't quite sure he could trust, barring Snape and Malfoy—and the rest being Order members. Moody fought with gusto, perhaps all pent up frustration with the way Harry was ruling. Harry's lips curled into a hard smile and he roared, hacking and spitting out spells because it was war, and there was no time for him to make jokes, even to himself.

It was as they were finishing up the last of them that he heard the screams.

They were the type of screams that he'd never heard before, heart-wrenching and terribly sad and full of agonizing pain. Harry spun around, his eye wide as he searched for the source. He looked up at Yaxley, but the man looked grim.

“What is that?” Harry whispered.

Yaxley frowned, impenetrable. “We were warned. You words are law,” he said, softly.

Barty jogged forward, skidding to a stop on Harry’s other side.

“Oh no…” he whispered, softly.

Harry took off running, following the sounds of the screams that had been drowned out by the sound of war and the thundering of his own blood in his ears.

“ _Crucio!_ ”

Harry cried out, his hand outstretched as he saw the broken bodies, nearly lost in the waves of chaos. His heart shattered as he saw the glossy dead eyes of a child, her mouth frozen open in a bloody howl. Her father’s entrails were wrapped around her wrists. Her mother was the lost, writhing and churning under the power of Alecto Carrow’s Cruciatus Curse. He was frozen as the mother’s screams echoed in his ears, searing into his mind.

Her throat sounded raw, her screams like something out of a horror story. His lungs collapsed in his chest and he clapped his hands over his ears as he stared at the terror. Bodies, so many _bodies_ , lifted in the air, crucified by magic. Was this what cruelty was? Was _this_ what the Dark Lord had taught his followers?

Rage pulsed Harry’s veins and he took a step forward, the fire burning brighter around him.

“STOP IT!” Harry roared, throwing out his hands.

He watched as the fire exploded from his hands, eating away the magic. The bodies dropped to the ground, and Harry watched as the Carrow twins turned towards him, their eyes wide with terror. He wasn’t sure what he looked like to them, but he didn’t care.

“Wha—” Alecto started.

“That’s _enough_!" Harry roared, whipping his wand around wordlessly, Conjuring ropes around their bodies, binding them tightly.

The Carrows collapsed, bowing to his power and Harry felt only rage. He stared at them, his fire burning brighter and brighter, eating away at the greenery, turning the world into nothing but ashes. He did not notice the grass curling and blackening. He did not notice the plumes of smoke that blocked out the midnight’s moon. He did not notice the destruction, the smell of burning flesh as the fallen bodies around him collapsed in one themselves, turning to dust in the wind.

“Your Grace! Harry!”

Harry snarled, spinning around, his fire whipping around with him. He flinched when he was met with Ron's gaze. Ron reached out to him, a solemn expression on his face.

“What?” Harry hissed.

Ron’s gaze turned grave. “Look around, Harry,” he said, softly.

And Harry looked around. Goose pimples rose along his skin as he looked at the blackness of his rage. All light had died, turning the world grey and ashen but for where the light of his flames reached. The Order stared at him in terror. The Death Eaters cowered before him—even Lucius and Severus. Only Ginny and Ron stared at him without fear.

“I...I…” Harry whispered, and he pulled the fire back into himself, letting it settle under his skin and fester. Slowly, the ash fell like snow. “They...killed them. They were supposed to...they weren’t supposed to…”

“Sometimes, people are just _bad_ , Harry,” Ron whispered. “But, you are not one of them.”

Harry wasn’t sure he believed that as he looked around at the blackened world. He had scorched the Earth. Trees had been turned into nothing. The moon itself had disappeared for a moment. All that was left was soot, ash, and blood.

“They killed a family. For fun,” Harry murmured to himself. He looked over at the Carrows, bound and fallen. They stared at him with wide eyes, bewildered and confused. This had never been something they couldn’t do before but, Harry was in charge now.

He knew what he had to do.

* * *

**THEM**

* * *

 

“What are you doing in here?” Hermione barked. She looked over at Luna, her eyes narrowed. “Why is she here?”

“Hermione...you may want to listen to her,” Luna said, her voice ever so soft, and hesitant. Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise and she looked to Daphne who lounged on her couch, both contrite yet smug. It set Hermione on edge.

“I come to beg your forgiveness,” Daphne said, kindly.

Hermione pulled her dressing gown tighter around her body as she slowly approached the armchair, settling down in it. She lifted her wand, Levitating the teacup and saucer towards her and she took a long sip, hoping that it would calm her nerves. It didn't. Slowly, she settled it on her side table and crossed her legs, full facing her opponent.

“Beg my forgiveness?” Hermione allowed. Before the nerves could get the better of her, she remembered how Narcissa had looked at Blaise. She had looked at him with little regard, as if he were barely worth any of her time.

She channeled that, her eyes shuttering, and Daphne leaned forward in her chair, intrigued and surprised.

"I have wronged you, as a woman. As a friend. I do admit that...there are inappropriate aspects of my relationship with the King. I have betrayed your trust," Daphne admitted, sounding contrite even as she stared at Hermione with her sea glass eyes that never betrayed any of her thoughts.

Hermione’s shoulders bunched and she felt for her wand, tucked into the belt of her dressing gown.

“Luna, you said I wanted to listen to her,” Hermione said, her teeth clenched. “I want to hear her humiliate me, then?”

“You jump to conclusions too often,” Luna chided, moving to sit in the armchair at Hermione’s side. She sat back, and Daphne looked surprised that Hermione said nothing of it, said nothing of having her servant girl sit at her side as an equal. “She is not a fool.”

“No, I never thought her one,” Hermione muttered. She looked back at Daphne. “From the moment I met you, I thought you were odd. Why are you telling me this? Do you want me to hate you?”

"Not at all. I...I want to apologize. Beg your forgiveness. I don't want to be queen. I've never wanted to be queen. I gave up my own noble titles and fair share of fortune to be a ward of the Longbottom family because I don't value those things," Daphne said and Hermione could hear the honesty in her words though she couldn't decipher any of the intent. Daphne hesitated and Hermione nodded, spurring the other woman on. "The King is...taken with me, and I have encouraged it."

“Are you taken with him?” Hermione asked, her voice cold.

“I...I’m not sure,” Daphne said, her brow furrowed as she leaned back in her chair, staring down at her clenched fists digging into her thighs. “He is kind to me but, I know how he is to you. He is a monster to you. I cannot reconcile this in my head.”

“He is fascinated by you. When he is with you, he lets me alone,” Hermione said, thoughtfully.

“Alone with your paramour,” Daphne said, suddenly sly, switching from insecurity to the woman that Hermione knew her to be.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Hermione retorted, coldly. She glanced over at Luna but, the woman was looking back at her with a look that conveyed all of her disapproval.

“Barty Crouch Jr. I saw you two. Coming out of the library. You care for him. The King wouldn’t like it if he found out,” Daphne noticed, inspecting her nails.

“Is that a threat?” Hermione barked.

Luna reached out, grabbing her hand and squeezed hard. Hermione looked at the maid again. Luna said it all with her eyes.

_This was why Daphne had come._

"Not at all. I feel like we can...benefit from a mutual understanding," Daphne said, cheerfully. She leaned forward, her lips pulled into a smile. "The King has not noticed your flagrant affair because he has been otherwise occupied with me. I can assure you that Bartemius Crouch has noticed, and soon, the Slytherins, including the Dark Lord, will not as well."

“I can handle the Slytherins,” Hermione said, lying through her teeth.

Daphne pursed her lips, scoffing. “I’m sure,” she said. She shook her head. “You needn’t do this alone.”

“I’ve been alone since I’ve come to this gods damned place,” Hermione retorted.

“Clearly not. I wouldn’t be here but for your maid. She caught me spying on you and blackmailed into being here. You have a _very_ loyal person on your side,” Daphne said, dipping her head towards Luna. Hermione glanced at her maid but, Luna looked only at Daphne, watching her with careful eyes.

“Tell me about this...benefitting,” Hermione said.

“I will continue to see the King. I can promise you that we have not engaged carnally. He’s barely kissed me. I will continue to distract him while you have your dalliances. Once you are married to the King, I will draw back. I won’t have his bastard. And once you’re secure in your position, you will no longer need me as a distraction. I go back to Arcadia. We both survive,” Daphne said. Hermione pursed her lips.

“This seems firmly in my favor. What do you get out of this?” Hermione asked, her voice cold. She finished her tea and set it down, firmly, tapping her wand against her exposed leg.

Daphne sighed. “I...the House Longbottom is still shamed. I have no friends at court...except for you, and you are a powerful friend indeed. The ladies may pretend to disdain you but, it is because they are jealous. Surely, you’ve noticed how they mimic you. Even Pansy Parkinson has tried to tease her hair bigger. Please, Lady Hermione.”

Hermione tilted her head. Her friendship was powerful now. She grew more and more powerful the closer she got to the dreaded marriage ceremony. She shivered as she regarded Daphne, this woman that begged for her friendship in return for hiding Hermione’s relationship.

SHe knew what would become of her if she was caught.

Dead. Exiled. Whichever, Hermione didn’t mind.

But, Barty...she couldn’t allow Barty to be hurt. Never. Narcissa would kill him. _Draco_ would kill him.

She had no idea if even the Dark Lord could stop them if the slight was revealed to court.

That settled Hermione’s decision.

“Deal.”

* * *

**ALL?**

* * *

 

“I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered, reaching towards Tom. Tom took a step back, his voice carefully cold, and Harry flinched away when the man said nothing. Harry stared at him for a long time before taking a deep breath and turning his back on him.

“Harry,” Tonks said.

Harry nodded and he pulled away from the shadows, walking towards the crowd. The world slowed around him and the crowd parted. He ignored the Alfheimeans' stares, his eyes trained on the cage that held the Carrows, the same cage that had once trapped Tom and his seconds. The Carrows watched him with bared teeth, Alecto chuckling through the pain. Harry didn't let his mask drop.

“What will you do? You can’t _touch_ us,” Alecto taunted.

Harry tilted his head. Freia screeched as she hovered above them, her great wings beating a steady breeze that blew Harry's curls from his face, revealing the single facial blemish that had never healed—the lightning bolt above his brow. The Carrows flinched from the display of power but didn't cower.

“What makes you think such a thing?” Harry asked.

“Our Lord would never let you. Just because you warm his bed—” Amycus taunted and Harry whipped out his wand and the Carrow twins felt quiet under his Silence Charm.

Harry nodded once at McKinnon and the Weasley twins. The three wrestled the Carrows out of the cage, sending them to their knees as Harry stepped forward, slowly drawing his sword from his scabbard. The sight of steel seemed to make Amycus realize how serious Harry was as he watched them.

“You have been brought before me, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, for the torture and the murder of innocent Muggles. This is against the law of your King and, thus this is high treason, punishable without trial and with immediate death,” Harry said and he waved his wand, ending the Silence spell. “Last words?”

Alecto sputtered, her face turning purple. “M-my Lord! You can’t let him _do_ this! My Lord!”

Harry closed his eyes as she looked over his shoulder. Harry glanced back at the Dark Lord, purposefully keeping his green eyes unreadable. But, the Dark Lord wasn't watching him. He was staring at the Carrows, as if branding their faces to his mind.

“M-my Lord?” Amycus whispered.

“It is the law,” Voldemort said, his voice soft. “This is...justice.”

Alecto fell back onto her haunches, trembling in horror. Harry turned back to the Carrows.

“You damn us, my Lord. You _damn_ us. Your loyal servants! You would let this _whore_ do this—” Amycus hissed in fury and Voldemort shook his head.

“Enough,” he barked. “I told you both what was expected and you disobeyed. Disobedience is met with consequences. It is the _law_.”

“Fuck the law and fuck your whore too,” Alecto hissed, spitting at Harry’s feet.

Harry didn’t flinch. He nodded at Fred and George and they grabbed Alecto by the arms, holding them wide and McKinnon pushed her head down, baring her neck. Alecto hissed and spat but, she didn’t try to run.

“Close your eyes, Amycus Carrow,” Harry said, calmly.

Amycus growled. “Why?”

“I am not cruel enough to make you watch your sister’s death,” Harry said softly and he Conjured up a blindfold silently. He twisted his wand with delicate care, wrapping it around Amycus’ eyes. Alecto whimpered softly but made no sound of protest. Harry stowed his wand and pulled his sword fully. “I, Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of My Name, Emperor of Albion, the Wyrdfod and the Fairest of Them All, sentence you, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, to die.”

And with a great heavy swing of his sword, he separated Alecto’s head from her shoulder. He watched her body jerk once, twice, the grass slicked with blood. Her head rolled and Amycus let out a terrible cry, closing his head to his twin’s death.

“My Lord,” Amycus cried out. “Don’t leave…”

Voldemort was already walking away, his back turned as his follower’s stained the grass.

“Your Lord is here,” Harry lied, kindly. “He would never walk away from this. Goodbye, Amycus Carrow.”

And with another swing of his sword, Amycus Carrow was dead. The two decapitated bodies fell from the Weasleys’ and McKinnon’s hands. Harry cleared his throat and called his Fire, wondering if he should burn them. He paused. He turned to look at the Death Eaters, and they watched him, out of terror or awe, he wasn’t sure.

“Rodolphus,” Harry called.

“Yes, your Grace,” Lord Lestrange responded immediately.

“Are there any Carrows left?” Harry asked.

"Alecto's bastard daughter. She's eleven years. Lives with the grandmother," Rodolphus said, nervously.

Harry cleared his throat. "Send the new Lady Carrow a letter. I'll be legitimizing her. And send her their bodies. They deserve a proper burial," he said, firmly. He looked down at his blood-soaked sword and felt his stomach turn. He wanted to vomit. He looked at Tonks. "Clean my sword."

He passed it to her and walked back the way he had come, ignoring the watching eyes. He ignored Moody’s approval, Cho’s _judgmental_ disgust. He ignored it all, walking back up to Westeron, right past Andromeda who didn’t look like much of anything at all.

Harry stared straight ahead as he ascended the stairs and walking up the beautifully crafted spiral staircases, the Slytherin tapestries that marked the halls just as much as the Hufflepuff banners that Andromeda had never bothered taking down. He nodded when he should as the servants passed him, muttering their greetings, dropping into curtseys and bows. He could barely see where he was walking, his head filled with weeping, his eyes holding the image of Alecto's disembodied head. He walked right to his room and he wasn't surprised to see Tom on their bed, staring up at the ceiling, unmoving, nearly unbreathing.

Harry collapsed back against the door, holding his chest as his heart threatened to beat through his ribcage.

“I am sorry. I am _sorry,_ ” Harry whispered, too afraid to move.

“Don’t apologize when you don’t mean it,” Tom said, his voice cold and unyielding.

“I am _not_ sorry for their deaths,” Harry snarled, suddenly full of fury. Tom, who was supposed to _always_ be on his side, was so cold. It made Harry _burn_. "They were violent murderers, thrilled by the torment of people weaker than themselves. They were like every evil man I've ever met, triumphing in their dominance of the oppressed, and they would've done something worse, eventually. If there _is_ anything worse than torturing helpless people.”

Tom sat up, suddenly, his face twisted in rage. “Then _why_ are you apologizing?” he roared.

Harry's face hardened and he stormed up to Tom and grabbed him by his shoulders. He crawled forward, straddling Tom's lap and cradled his face. Slowly, he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Tom's. He could feel the older man trembling.

And softly, Harry said, "I am sorry for your loss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been two weeks! I'm so, so sorry about how long this took to come out. I've been so stressed with schoolwork and I have a big exam on Tuesday, but I really needed a break so I decided to start a new story (Called Diagnosis) and, also, finally, FINALLY finish this chapter. It's been really hard to write because it's largely a transition chapter. There are only three chapters left until the end of this arc, and then, we'll be hitting the final arc, which is tentatively called GRYMMR.
> 
> Now that I've gotten this transitional chapter out of the way, we can REALLY get started. The climax begins next chapter, and hopefully, I'll have it up by Tuesday. I want to actually have this entire arc done by Thanksgiving Day, so let's GO!


	12. Chapter Twelve

“Where’s Cedric and the Death Eaters?” Ginny asked curiously after Harry called the council to order. Harry stood from his chair, putting his hands on hips as he regarded his council, with the addition of Andromeda and Regulus.

“We are discussing domestic issues today. After the wedding, Afallon’s noble families will be coming to swear their fealty and loyalty in perpetuity to me. This puts the entire country at risk. We discuss closing the Western Bridge until the war is over,” Harry said.

Bill frowned. “Do you think that wise, your Grace, Lady Warden? A great deal of Afallon’s revenue is from trading perishable goods,” Bill pointed out and Andromeda nodded in agreement.

“True. But, we will be in excess of grains and food. Enough to go around. If we must take control of it all and ration it out properly so the people don’t stave due to greed, then so be it. But, their lives should come first, unthreatened by the war on the mainland,” Andromeda reminded him. Bill nodded in understanding and agreement.

“We also shouldn’t give them a direct line to where we’re stationed. True, Westeron is on the other side of the country but allowing them access to the Bridge would be foolish,” Kingsley added and Harry laughed softly, shaking his head as he looked at his council.

“I’m in any need of convincing. Truly, we need to establish a timeline,” Harry said and there was another mass nod of agreement before ideas were being shouted out, too much for Harry to remember all at once.

Still, Regulus said nothing as he looked at the King’s council, discussing a country that they had never lived in or ever seen.

“We should the gates prior to the harvest. But, just so,” Voldemort said, firmly.

“We’ll do it quietly,” Ginny suggested.

Tonks snorted. “It’s an enormous stone bridge. How do you close that quietly?”

"We destroy it and rebuild after the war. But, I think we should do it after the harvest. In case there's a problem with the grain. The soil has been as tetchy as the weather," Andromeda said as an explanation. She paused and looked over at Regulus, seemingly noticing how quiet he was. "Regulus, you know the harvest time better than anyone. What do you suggest?"

Regulus opened his mouth, ready to speak on harvests and bridge-closings, and the mercantile state that Afallon would have to turn to but, he couldn't find the words. Suddenly, his tongue was swelling and something else was emerging.

"I can't hold my tongue any longer," Regulus said, his voice soft as he looked at the King and Lord Chancellor. "Your Grace, the Lady Warden and I have done everything that you have asked of us. We have risked our lives, and I did it gladly, for Lady Andromeda promised me something."

Andromeda’s nostrils flared and she reached up, grabbing at Regulus’ wrist. “Regulus, please,” she began. “Now, is _not_ the time.”

“No. Let him speak. We can return to the bridge matter at a later date,” Harry said, shaking his head at her. His gaze softened when he looked at Regulus. He nodded once at him. “What has she promised you, Lord Black?”

Regulus stiffened at the title.

“You see...I am not the true heir of House Black, as you must know. On the day that the Dark Lord _murdered_ the good Princess Lily Gryffindor and her husband, Sir James Potter, he tortured and imprisoned my older brother, Sirius Black, in the worst prison in the world: Azkaban,” Regulus snarled, and if he felt a twist of pleasure when the council cringed, and Cedric and Anthony cast the Dark Lord a disgusted look, he suppressed it.

Harry’s brow furrowed and he turned to look at Madame McGonagall.

“What is Azkaban?” he asked, softly.

“A most heinous place,” McGonagall said, quietly. “It is a terrible prison, used to house only the most dangerous criminals. It is where Medraut was kept before he was slain. Its guards are the creatures that we call...dementors. Fear itself.”

Harry tilted his head as he mulled over her words. “Fear itself,” he repeated, softly.

“Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth,” Regulus said, his eyes firm. “They infest the darkest, filthiest places. They glory in decay and despair. They drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air. If you get too near a dementor, every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If dementors feed on you long enough, they will reduce you to something like itself...soulless and evil. You would be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life. My brother...has been in Azkaban for _seventeen_ years.”

Regulus leaned back in his chair as he saw the horrified look enter Harry’s eyes. Harry turned to look at the Dark Lord, as if he couldn’t believe it before he drew himself up and closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself. The Dark Lord stared back, unapologetic.

“Every...time...I think you cannot horrify me more…” Harry trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Voldemort’s lips twitched in a terrifying smirk. “This isn’t the worst thing you know about me,” Voldemort said, softly.

“No, it is not,” Harry sighed. “I horrify myself.”

“Your Grace, Andromeda promised that you would rectify the wrongs that this man has done to my family,” Regulus said, impatiently, and Voldemort snorted, looking away. Regulus’ rage flared. “Do you not think it wrong?”

“No, I don’t,” Voldemort retorted. “He committed treason—”

“Against our _mad_ sister. You doomed our _cousin_ , Tom,” Andromeda snarled. “What was it about blood again? We never betray _blood_.”

“He was a blood traitor first!” Voldemort roared. “He chose fucking _Gryffindors_ over us.”

There was a long moment of silence as Andromeda’s eyes narrowed.

“You did too,” she hissed. “ _Blood_ traitor.”

Voldemort stood immediately, nearly knocking back his chair in his fury. Andromeda jumped up, pulling her wand, and the two Slytherins hissed, magic glowing at the tips of their wands.

“ _EXPELLIARMUS_!”

The two voices rang out. Harry reached out and caught Andromeda's wand and Voldemort's nostrils flared when Tonks smirked at him, triumphant as she tucked his yew wand into the depths of her red cloak. Regulus swallowed hard as he looked at his mistress and her brother, both festering with rage.

“You will _not_ have a duel in the middle of my war council. Finish your family business somewhere else, and preferably _after_ I make a decision. You both are children so I shall treat you like children. You’ll get your wands back after this meeting is over,” Harry spat. He set Andromeda’s wand in front of him and turned back to Regulus, his eyes blazing with leftover fury. “I think it wrong, Regulus Black, and I will rectify this. I cannot pay you in blood because Lord Voldemort is _mine_ , bound to me by magic, but, as soon as this war ends, I will free your brother.”

Regulus shook his head. “Forgive me, your Grace, but that isn’t good enough.”

Harry looked surprised by the notion. He looked over at Tonks but, the woman shrugged. He glanced to McGonagall, Kingsley, Bill, and even Ginny but, they all stared down at the table. So, he wasn’t alone in his decision, per say, but Regulus could see that the others would neither deny nor support either of them.

“Not good enough?” Harry repeated.

“My brother was loyal to the Order. So loyal that he was prepared to suffer nearly two decades of his mistreatment. You _owe_ him,” Regulus snarled. He winced when he realized that he had overstepped, and Harry’s face twisted with irritation.

“ _I_ owe _him_?” Harry repeated again.

Regulus crumpled into his seat, pressing his hand to his brow, attempting to smooth out the frown lines that would make him wrinkle prematurely.

“I mean...what I mean is...he’s my _brother_ , Harry," Regulus said, softly. "My only family in the world and that man locked him away for doing what was good and right. What was _just_.”

Harry’s gaze softened and Regulus leaned forward, opening his mouth to appeal more. He wanted to speak about his brother’s virtues. The way he would laugh and joke. How great he was at dueling and how much he could teach Harry. He wanted to say all of those things but, Regulus had only been a child when he had last seen Sirius; he wasn't sure if he'd made all of it up in his head or if it was all actual memories.

“Your Grace, freeing Sirius now could be beneficial,” McGonagall said, slowly.

Voldemort jerked in his seat and Andromeda sat up, suddenly alert.

“How so?” Harry asked, curiously.

Andromeda’s eyes brightened with excitement. “Oh. _Oh._ He’s a _Marauder_ ," Andromeda said, looking around the table as if the word meant anything.

“That was their stupid name for themselves. It didn’t _mean_ anything,” Voldemort said, rolling his eyes.

“But, it did,” Tonks challenged, slyly. “The Marauder’s Map exists, Uncle.”

“For Hogwarts. But, Essetir?” Voldemort drawled.

“Enough using words that I don’t know,” Harry hissed. He looked around at everyone, his arms crossed over his chest. “What is a Marauder?”

“It’s what Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and your father, James, called themselves. The Marauders. Messieurs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. They were the guard of your mother, and they created maps of the strongholds that they resided in. I remember a time when the household moved to Rowena’s hold during an outbreak. They were twelve, still training, but they were there,” Andromeda said, firmly look at Voldemort with a smugness that was quite unbecoming for a woman her age.

Regulus looked at her with hope, anyway.

“Pettigrew! Pettigrew is a Marauder! There,” Voldemort snapped.

“Pettigrew is an imbecile,” Ginny interjected. “So, you think there’s a map of Rowena’s castle that will allow us entrance undetected?”

“Well...no,” Andromeda sighed. “But, Sirius would know. Between Sirius and Remus, we could find a way into the castle. It’s a chance. A chance we _desperately_ need.”

They all turned to Harry. Harry looked deep in thought, constantly pacing, his eyes drifting over their faces. He paused and stared at Regulus the longest.

“Harry...this is a terrible plan. No one has ever broken into Azkaban prison. I can’t simply let you waltz in. You’d need to break him out,” Voldemort said, firmly.

Harry slowly looked up, his lips twitching into a smirk.

“I’ve grown used to accomplishing impossible things.”

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

“The Patronus Charm,” Remus started, nervously. He had taken out his own wand and nodded at Harry, indicating that Harry should do the same. “This spell is highly advanced magic, Harry. It’s a wonder that you haven’t learned it yet.”

Harry bit his bottom lip, wondering if he should share that he didn’t know the spell because the Dark Lord didn’t know it. Instead, he stayed silent, wishing that Tonks had been the one to teach him. Alas, she had been busy and McGonagall had quietly instructed Harry to do it. He wondered if it was because Remus knew Sirius Black best or because she was finally _forcing_ Remus to directly acknowledge Harry’s presence.

“How does it work?” Harry asked instead.

“Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus, which is a kind of Anti-Dementor,” Remus explained, “a guardian which acts as a shield between you and the Dementor.”

Harry’s lips curled into a smile. Perhaps it would look like Freia or even Hagrid, who was large and intimidating to anyone that didn’t know how kind he was. Remus’ lips twitched into an involuntary smile of his own.

“The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon—hope, happiness, the desire to survive—but it cannot feel despair, as real humans an, so the Dementors can’t hurt it,” Remus explained and Harry leaned forward.

“You think I can learn it? You said only powerful, qualified wizards can do it,” Harry pointed out.

Remus hesitated for only a moment. “I think...if anyone could learn it, it would be,” he said, honestly, even as his cheeks turned a dusty pink. “I know that you believe that I do not like or believe in you but, I do. It’s just...very difficult sometimes. To look at you.”

“To look at me?” Harry asked, softly. He glanced over at McGonagall but, she was pretending not to hear their conversation, in a strange semblance of privacy.

“You look so very much like your mother and father,” Remus confessed and he looked so pained that Harry didn’t want to ask him anymore.

Instead, he asked, “What does a Patronus look like?”

“Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it.”

“And how do you conjure it?” Harry asked patiently.

“With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a very happy memory,” Remus said, firmly.

And Harry paused. He thought back to the first time that he had met Tonks, the bewilderment and the happiness and the instant camaraderie. But, no. Not enough. He thought about the moment Freia was born, his fire burning away a shell and revealing something beautiful. His lips curled into a tiny smile.

“Right,” Harry said. “I’m ready.”

Remus frowned as if he was unsure but he nodded.

“The incantation is this, ‘expecto patronum’,” Remus said. Harry nodded as he remembered the thrill of Freia taking her first breath. “Concentrating hard on your happy memory?”

“Yeah... _expecto patronum_!” Harry cast and he gasped when he saw wisps of silvery gas emerge from the end of his wand. He looked up, his eyes bright with excitement and he saw that even Remus looked impressed. “Did you see that? Something happened!”

“Yes...I…unexpected but, unsurprising,” Remus said with a smile. “Now, think of a happier memory.”

And then, Harry’s face fell.

“I don’t...I was thinking of Freia’s birth. I don’t really...have happier memories,” Harry admitted.

Remus’ brow creased. “Not even a childhood memory?”

“I didn’t have the best childhood and war isn’t really the time to make happy memories, is it?” Harry asked, crestfallen. Remus looked at him with such sadness that it made all of Harry’s happiness fall away for a dull ache.

“No, I suppose not,” Remus admitted.

Harry looked at the man for a long time. “I’m glad that you’re the one teaching me.”

“Me?” Remus asked in surprise.

“Yes. You knew my parents. And I know that you don’t like to look at me because I remind you of them but, I like looking at you because...you remind me of them too. If that makes sense,” Harry said, softly. Remus blinked, looking away. “Looking at you...reminds me that they were real. That they loved me.”

Suddenly, Remus looked up and fiercely, he said, “They loved you, Harry Potter. More than anyone or anything in this entire world. They would lay their lives down for you a _thousand_ times over.”

“I’m glad to hear you say it,” Harry confessed. “You knew them best.”

“We _all_ loved you. We would do anything for you, Harry. You are the best of your parents. The very best parts of them. When James found out that Lily was pregnant…I don’t think I’d ever seen him so happy. You _saved_ your mother,” Remus said strongly and though he looked stricken with grief, he didn’t stop, a sudden fierceness in his amber eyes.

“Saved her?” Harry asked.

“Your mother was a sad woman. She was always free. A tiger-lily, made for the sun. A phoenix, made for the sky. And they locked her in a tower because they thought that that would keep her safe. In the end, it didn’t keep anyone safe,” Remus whispered. “Locking someone away never keeps anyone safe.”

McGonagall looked away, a semblance of shame in her eyes.

“I understand that. I was alone. For a long time. The Dursleys were unkind people in an unkind village, who did not like the way I looked,” Harry said softly. He looked at Remus. “And you do not like me because I remind you of the things you’ve lost. It’s terribly lonely when the only connection to your parents wants nothing to do with you. I understand how my mother felt.”

And Remus looked stricken by his comparison. His face crumpled, folding in on itself and he looked so regretful. Harry just stared back. He didn’t want an apology or a hug. He just wanted Remus to understand, and finally, it seemed that he did.

“Harry...never again. I promise,” Remus said softly. “Never again.”

Harry nodded, looking up at the sky. “It seems...that a Gryffindor, alone in the world, is a terrible thing.”

And finally, McGonagall spoke. Quietly, she said, "You are never alone. You will _never_ be alone again.”

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Gabrielle woke up on her 16th birthday alone in bed. She looked to the side where she knew that Fenrir had fallen asleep. Blankly, she reached out, patting her hand against the space where he had been. It was cold.

Gabrielle rolled out of bed, utterly naked. She stretched, reveling in the soreness as her bones popped and tugged at her scars. Slowly, Gabrielle walked towards the hook by the door, snatching up her long silk robe. She tugged it around her body as she walked barefoot towards the library, her head held high. Her long sheet of pale hair swung around her. She passed by a mirror and froze.

Nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

Her hair was so light, it was nearly white. Her eyes were just as light, giving her an unearthly, unhealthy look. But, she was not beautiful. Not the way most Veela were. Instead, she looked terribly, unfathomably cold, and wane. Her face was sharp, almost like it wanted to shift into the face of a bird but, wasn’t quite there yet. She was on the precipice of rage, right on the knife’s edge.

Slowly, Gabrielle pushed open the door to the library. Fenrir stood by their table, a small smile on his face. There was a breakfast spread—all of her favorite foods. Freshly baked bread, cheeses, meats of all kind. Even her favorite sausage was there, though Gabrielle knew that only Fleur knew how to prepare it just right.

But, the only thing resting on her plate was an Albion apple.

“Happy birthday, my love,” Fenrir said, gently.

Gabrielle took another step forward, her eyes trained on the apple. She didn’t react when she really looked. The apple had a large bite taken out of it. It was old and browning, nearly sinking into itself, and it was caked in dried blood. Slowly, she looked up into Fenrir’s eyes. His smile hadn’t changed but, his eyes weren’t warm amber. They were cold. Like gold.

He knew she knew.

“Thank you, Mr. Greyback,” Gabrielle said.

She didn’t smile. Slowly, they sat at the same time, never taking their eyes off one another.

 _Who is to rule_?

Gabrielle slowly picked up the rotting, blood caked apple. She turned it over, sniffing it. It smelled overwhelmingly like copper. She looked over at Fenrir. His eyes glowed ominously. Slowly, Gabrielle lifted it to her mouth and bit into it, never looking away. Fenrir leaned forward, eager. Gabrielle barely tested the rotten, bloody apple on her tongue, reveling in the way that Fenrir watched her.

She swallowed.

“Don’t you like your breakfast, Gabrielle?” Fenrir asked, softly.

“I do. Thank you, Fenrir.” She took another bite and swallowed.

Fenrir leaned back in his chair, smiling softly. He looked outside.

“It looks like rain,” he commented softly.

Gabrielle took another bite. “I suppose it does,” she said softly. She leaned her cheek on her hand and took another bite of the apple. It was nearly done. It tasted like blood—the bloody taste that was always on the back of her tongue. “Do I look different to you, Fenrir?”

“You do,” he allowed.

“Do you still think me pretty? Your pretty, little Miss Gabrielle,” Gabrielle taunted, her eyes bright and Fenrir’s smile broadened. She had never noticed how sharp all of his teeth were.

“Oh, sweetheart...you’ve never looked more beautiful.”

Gabrielle leaned back in her chair and slammed down the apple core onto the porcelain plate. It shattered from the force of her fist.

So, this was what it was like to be at war.

* * *

**ON**

* * *

 

“I miss you,” Harry said, gently as he walked around Tonks’ room.

It was larger than their rooms at the Burrow II combined. It was grand, covered in velvets and silks, like Tonks might’ve had if she had been raised as a proper Slytherin. It was clear that Andromeda was trying to make up in some way. Teddy’s little trundle bed was tucked against a wall, scattered with toys and soft pillows and rugs. His play area, clearly.

“I miss you too,” Tonks said, readily. “We haven’t had the time to talk. You’ve been busy being King.”

“You’ve been busy making me King,” Harry retorted with a laugh. He crawled onto Tonks’ bed, collapsing at her side and looked up at her.

“Fine. We’re both busy,” Tonks chuckled and Harry nodded.

“War is hard, Tonks. War is hard because I...this doesn’t feel like war. And I’m afraid of you all dying. I’m afraid of what will happen if I lose,” Harry confessed and Tonks looked down at him, her lips curled into a bright smile.

“Oh, Harry. You don’t have to worry about that. I won’t let you lose,” Tonks said, honestly and Harry broke into a loud laugh that slowly tapered off into a soft sob that he swallowed staring down at the bedspread. Slowly, he closed his eyes.

His heart ached.

“I love him,” Harry whispered, his voice cracking.

Tonks’ eyes softened and she held her hand out to him. “I know.”

Harry’s eyes welled with tears and he strangled the sob in his throat, refusing to cry. But, the way that Tonks looked at him...the tears spilled over anyway. He took her hand, like an anchor. She pulled him towards the bed, pulling his face into her shoulder. Harry clung to her and let out a heartbroken sob.

“He doesn’t...he won’t…”

“He does,” Tonks insisted, her voice hard. “He loves you, Harry.”

Harry pulled back to look at her, searching her face for a lie. Tonks only stared back at him. Harry let out a quiet hiss as he attempted to pull himself together.

“I’ve never...Tonks, you _know_ , I’ve never wanted anything or anyone like I wanted him. And I want him to love me. I want him to feel like he can’t survive without me. Do you know what he told me? Before I even knew what it meant... _inwi nwaly ten’ke._ ”

Tonks frowned. “I only know enough of the ancient language to get by. But, that’s even older. It’s archaic sounding. What does it mean?” Tonks asked, curiously.

“ ‘I ache for you’,” Harry murmured. “I love him and he killed my parents. I love him and he’s killed your father. I love him and he has done nearly all he could to turn this empire into nothing.”

Tonks didn’t deny any of those things. She couldn’t. Every single word was true.

“He has done all of those things and you love him anyway. Harry, you have this enormous capacity to love and there is no shame in that. You fight for the people that you love. You _save_ the people that you love. You. Saved. Him," Tonks said, firmly and Harry stared into her wide eyes. "From himself. From the people that would kill him. And that is not your job. It is not your job, to go around saving people but, it is what you do. You saved him."

“You think I _want_ to love him?” Harry hissed. “He’s annoying. He doesn’t _listen_ to me. He thinks he’s always right!”

“He’s a man, Harry,” Tonks drawled.

“I’m a man!”

“He never had to want for anything. He’s not like us. We’re survivors. He’s never had to survive like us,” Tonks said, pointedly.

“This is true.”

Harry jumped and he looked up. McGonagall walked in from the balcony, her goblet in hand.

“How long has she been here?” Harry hissed, his eyes bright with fear.

Tonks shrugged. “Madame McGonagall enjoys wine. My mother makes sure that I have the best wine,” Tonks said. “I didn’t think you were going to drop a truth like that. I would’ve told you.”

Harry groaned, shoving Tonks in the shoulder. She laughed, shaking her head and Harry crawled towards the edge of the bed, crossing his legs under him.

“I’m so sorry, Madame. Please don’t hate me,” Harry begged.

McGonagall scoffed. “Oh, Harry, when you’ve lived as long as I, you find it very hard to hate anyone unless you have a very good reason. I hate the Dark Lord but you? You have a great capacity to love, just as Tonks said. I couldn’t hate you for that. Your love is what makes you fight. Your love for your friends, your family, your _people_ , your _empire_.”

Harry nodded and suddenly, he thought about the Patronus Charm. This might be a memory he would use, a stronger one. The acceptance without any judgment. Just neverending love and pride and trust from the two women he respected more than anything in the world. He gave a small smile.

“Madame, why do you fight?” Harry asked.

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “You know why.”

“Because you fight for what’s right. I want to think that’s why I fight. But, sometimes...I don’t know. All I want is peace again. Think...I have never lived during a time of peace, and that has all been caused by the man I love,” Harry said. Every time he said it, it made it easier to digest, easier to say. McGonagall looked at him without judgment, her lips curled into a soft smile.

“Peace? Do you think that’s we had under your grandfather?” Madame McGonagall asked. She looked at Harry with a long gaze, as if she saw something in Harry that she had never seen before. “Peace never lasts, my dear. Will you take a bit of advice from an old woman that has loved and lost much?”

“Yes,” Harry whispered.

“Your lover is a clever man, your Grace,” McGonagall said, ignoring Harry’s blush. “I’ve known a great many clever men. I’ve outlived them all. You know why? I ignored them.”

Tonks let out a bubble of laughter, looking away from the two of them. “The lords of Albion are sheep.”

McGonagall nodded. “And you are not a lord, and so you are not a sheep. You have never been a lord. You have been amongst the lowest of us and have risen to be more than a lord. So, yes the lords of Albion are sheep and when they aren’t, they are _snakes_ as Lord Voldemort is. Are you a sheep?” McGonagall watched Harry shake his head. “No. You’re a lion. The alpha lion. _Be_ a lion.”

* * *

**THE**

* * *

 

She had always liked the sound of waves crashing. It sounded like the dull roaring in her mind. It was nice to know that there was something in the outside world that mimicked what the inside of her brain always felt like, always sounded like. When it was outside, that meant the inside was quiet. Her head hadn’t been so quiet in years.

Bellatrix waved her driftwood wand, stripping off the glamours. Her eyes darkened from lavender to violet, her hair darkened to black. She looked down at her raw, bloodied feet. She could barely feel it. She could barely feel anything anymore. Bellatrix took a staggering step forward, away from the shores. Her mind grew louder. She had no time for quiet minds or quiet hearts.

_Rage, rage._

Bellatrix took another step, her eyes trained on the vast expanse.

She didn’t know how large Eshnur was. It didn’t matter.

She would massacre every inhabitant on the island. She would rage and fight because she was fueled by magic and fury. Bellatrix would have blood. She would have the world bleed beneath her just as her feet bled. She would have the world hurt. She would have them all hurt.

Narcissa, for stealing from her.

Andromeda, for abandoning her.

The Fairest, for existing.

Tom. For his betrayal.

Tom, she would never have blood for. Tom, how she loved him. Tom. The thought of him made her take another step forward though all she wanted to do was collapse. She wanted to turn back and walk back towards the dock, though the ship that had brought her to Eshnur was long gone. She wanted a warm bed in an inn. She wanted to change out of her water-logged, salt-stained clothing. But, she did not stop.

She couldn’t stop.

If she was a weaker woman, she would pray to the gods. She would beg for mercy from her crumbling state. Her promise to the Sea Warlock clung to her lock, sealed by the wand that she held in hand. His mermaid, his mermaid. The Deathless' tomb.

Bellatrix took another step forward, tearing the cut on her ankle open again.

She did not stop.

If she was weaker, she would beg for mercy.

“The gods have no mercy, that’s why they’re gods,” she told herself.

Tom. Her Tom.

Bellatrix had loved him once. She loved him still. It poisoned her. Love was poison. A sweet poison, but, it would kill her. Just as love had killed every other fool that had existed.

Helene.

Lily.

Pandora.

Pandora, Pandora, Pandora.

She wanted to die. Bellatrix wanted to _die_ , in her half-cursed, beautiful damned state. Neither alive nor dead. She was nothing in the wind. The gods had abandoned her. Her brother, her other half, had abandoned her. And if Bellatrix looked into a mirror and begged to see him, she would find him in love with the little bitch whose heart she would eat from his chest, savage and animal and raw. She would bite it from his chest and feast on it, bathing in his blood.

Young and beautiful and damned.

By fairest blood, it would be done.

And still, as she wandered, stumbling across the rocky shores, she went forward towards the Deathless’ tomb, wanting to die.

“But, what we say to the Stranger, Death?” she rasped. “Not _yet._ Not today. Not ever.”

* * *

**WALL**

* * *

 

“My love, they’re coming,” Rodolphus whispered in her ear, dragging his fingers through the long waist-length hair that looked like spun silver. Luna looked up at him with wide eyes. He didn’t need to tell her who was coming.

Luna always knew things like that.

“When?” she whispered, instead.

“Soon. I can’t tell you when. It’s dangerous. But, I’ll get you out. I swear it. I’ll always find you,” Rodolphus murmured into the crown of her head. Luna laughed, softly, shaking her head.

“Oh, I know, you silly man,” she murmured. “The Wyrdfod is coming to save us all, and I will always find you.”

"I wish I could bring you with me. I have asked the Dark Lord," Rodolphus admitted. He hated to admit that he had practically fallen to his knees, begging. The Dark Lord had simply stared at him and scoffed, telling him to do as he pleased and to get off his knees like a beggar.

“And he has said, yes, I’m sure. He remembers me,” Luna said, serenely.

Rodolphus frowned. “I don’t think he does.”

Luna’s eyes flashed. “My love, he _remembers_.”

“How are you so sure?”

"Because he remembers my mother," Luna said, firmly, and Rodolphus knew that was the end of that particular conversation. They had spoken about Luna's mother only thrice, and each time had ended in tears. He would not ask her to relive the terrible memories of the City-States over again. Not when she carried the scars on her body when he carried the scars on his face.

“Come with me, Luna. Please. I have a Portkey,” Rodolphus insisted.

Luna shook her head. She looked outside. It was too late to go to sleep when she would be leaving so soon.

“My Lady needs me,” Luna said instead.

“Luna, she isn’t even going to be—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Luna said, sternly. She looked at him with that impenetrable stare that always stopped him in his tracks. “She is my friend and I won’t abandon my friend. We all have our place, my love. My place is here, with my Lady. Your place is out there with your Lord.”

Rodolphus stared at her. She was so young. It was hard to remember how young Luna was sometimes. Her eyes were so old. She had lived as much as he and she was stubborn and smart and strong. And he loved her more than anything. His stomach turned at the idea of leaving her in the belly of the beast. If it all went to hell, he wouldn’t see her again. Not until the end.

“During the battle, come to my side. Find me. Fight to me,” Rodolphus said, grabbing her hands in his much larger ones, bringing them to his lips. He kissed her knuckles.

“I will try my best,” Luna said, gently.

“Don’t try, Luna. Do,” Rodolphus whispered. “I don’t think I can do this without you.”

Luna’s eyes narrowed. “Rodolphus, no. If one of us dies...if _I_ die, you can live without me. If you die, I can live without you. It will be hard. It will be the hardest thing either one of us will ever do but, you must do it. If you love me. If you respect me.”

“Are you going to die?” he whispered, his voice cracking.

Luna shook her head. “Not today.”

She pulled away from him, slowly, her eyes so gentle as they roved over his face, memorizing every inch of him. She committed him to the memory of her eyes, her hands, her body. And then Luna smiled up at him, soft and sweet.

“I must go. I want to make sure my Lady’s wardrobe is completely packed. I will find you on the battlefield,” she promised and she slipped through the door, disappearing like moonlight at dawn.

* * *

**WHO**

* * *

 

Hermione stared out of the carriage window, bouncing to and fro as it rattled along the path. She let her head fall into the window frame. Every time the carriage rolled over a small bump, her head thumped painfully against the wood. She didn't move away. The pain reminded her that she was alive.

She was getting married soon. She was getting married in _seven_ days. Seven days and she would lose her Muggle last name. She would lose her Republic ties. She would lose her inheritance, and every piece of her, every part stolen would be called Slytherin. She’d be a Slytherin.

Hermione swore then if she ever called herself Slytherin, she would kill herself.

She had never meant anything else more.

Hermione only pulled back into the carriage when she made eye contact with Antonin Dolohov. He smirked at her, a filthy thing the made her feel covered with slime. She felt filthier than when Draco had made her watch Pansy Parkinson suck his cock. This was the man that Narcissa trusted more than anyone. Or rather, the man she trusted as much as Bartemius Crouch.

Hermione bit her lip, wishing that Barty was with her instead of being called away by the Dark Lord. Hermione felt spite run through her.

“With the Dark Lord attend the wedding?” she asked, finally turning towards Narcissa.

Narcissa hadn’t looked away from since they’d been loaded into the carriage hours before dawn. Hermione suspected that the woman had been watching her even when she slept.

“My brother has said that he will be there. And he must be there. You will be crowned,” Narcissa said, her impenetrable and flat as always. “Are you concerned?”

“He just...he hasn’t been around,” Hermione said, full of uncertainty.

Narcissa frowned. “I suspect that he...he still mourns our sister.”

“And you don’t?” Hermione challenged.

“I do not,” Narcissa retorted.

She frowned then as if she had said too much. Hermione stared back at her, triumphant, in some strange way.

“I don’t know how to be a queen,” Hermione said.

"It is simple. I was queen in all but name," Narcissa said. "You provide heirs. You wave. You smile, when you should. You frown when you should. You strike when you must. You do not flinch."

“Provide heirs?” Hermione whispered.

Even her body would not be her own. And still, she heard Narcissa’s other words echoing in her hindbrain: _You smile. You frown. You strike. Do not flinch. Do. Not. Flinch._

“The greatest honor for a woman is bringing her children into the world,” Narcissa said, her voice quiet as she looked out upon the landscape, peering out on the passing roads, the people hovering on the edges of the forest, too curious for their own good. “Or rather, in my case, one child. Have you ever wondered why I only have one child?”

“I...I suppose,” Hermione said, though it wasn’t a thought that she had ever really considered. She had assumed that it was because Narcissa didn’t love Lucius enough to sleep with him again or vice versa. After all, Narcissa had practically banished him from court.

"I couldn't have another. Draco has always been difficult," Narcissa said, firmly. It was the first time to Hermione's knowledge that Narcissa had ever acknowledged the terror that was her only son. "At his birth, I labored nearly three days. The pain was indescribable. He tore my insides and ravaged me, and after that, I could bear no more children."

She said it so matter of factly. Hermione winced. The thought of that kind of pain was unimaginable. And yet, this woman made it sound like it was nothing.

“Was...was Lord Malfoy upset?” Hermione asked, softly.

"Lord Malfoy was away. On a mission for my brother. When he returned, he would present me with jewels. He always did. Most typically, sapphires," Narcissa said. Hermione wondered if the sapphire teardrop jewels that weighed heavy on her earlobes were such a gift from her husband. "But, my brother...he always stayed by my side. My brother and my sister. Bella. When the matrons said that they weren't allowed into the birthing room, they forced their way in. They said they should be present for the birth of the first Slytherin child. They sounded as proud of him as if he were they own. In a way, he was."

She sounded far away. Narcissa lifted her head and looked out of the window as if she could see into the past.

“He was,” Hermione repeated, prompting. Narcissa nodded.

“Draco will offer you no such devotion,” Narcissa said, coldly. Hermione winced at the woman’s words. “You may never love the King but, you will love his children.”

“I love King Draco,” Hermione said, immediately. Narcissa looked at her a long time and then, slowly, tauntingly, rolled her eyes. She gave a cold smile.

“I’m sure,” she said. “Allow me to share some wisdom with you on this day. Consider it a wedding gift from your new mother: the more people you love, the weaker you are. You’ll do things for them that you truly shouldn’t do. That you _know_ you shouldn’t do. You’ll act the fool to keep them happy and safe. Love no one but your children. On that front, a mother has no choice.”

And Hermione knew then that Narcissa knew. She knew about Barty and Luna and even, Daphne. She knew that Hermione held them close in her heart, that Hermione had only stayed because of the people she adored, the people she wanted to keep safe. Narcissa knew, and she was playing the game too, only Hermione hadn’t known that was her true opponent. And now that Hermione knew, she also knew that she would lose.

“Lady Narcissa, are you content with staying in this carriage?” Hermione whispered.

“Never,” Narcissa said.

Hermione nodded and pushed her head out of the carriage, looking around. “Someone get us two horses! The Lady Narcissa and I would like to ride in the open air!” she shouted. Slowly, the carriage creaked to a stop, the guards spinning into action at Hermione’s command.

Hermione pulled back into the carriage and stared at her future mother. Narcissa’s expression was never-changing, just like ice, but Hermione thought she understood her eyes a bit better.

* * *

**IS**

* * *

 

"Harry. You must stay behind me," Tonks repeated for what felt like the thousandth time as Fred, George, Remus, and Kingsley rowed their oars in tandem. She stood on the helm, draped in two cloaks—her ever-present red cloak and then a black cloak over it. She was staring straight ahead through the gloom, her eyes narrowed.

“I know,” Harry sighed.

“And keep your hood up,” Tonks said. “We’re going to pretend you’re Barty.”

“Your Patronus is good. You’ll be okay,” Remus said with a half-smile.

“My Patronus doesn’t have a form yet,” Harry murmured, slightly disappointed. Every time he had cast the Patronus Charm, he thought long and hard about his happiest memories—laughing with Tonks, training with Ron, arriving at Westeron.

Still, none of it was enough. He still only produced a white shield. It was good, according to Remus. But, Harry knew it wasn’t good enough. As he looked up at Azkaban, he could already feel his happiness draining away, leaving only a pit of despair low in his pelvis. The tower was enormous, the color of ash, and swirling around the top were what he could only assume were dementors.

Harry looked back at Tonks and watched as her face seemed to melt and twist. First came the perfectly straight nose, the sharp jawline. Her pink hair turned darker and straighter. Her eyes brightened to violet. Harry shivered when the Mad Queen turned her wild eyes onto him. Harry swallowed and looked straight ahead.

“It’s only me,” she said.

It didn’t sound like her.

Harry lurched when they finally hit the rocky shore. He looked towards the shore and winced when he saw little pieces of driftwood jutting out from the shore. Graves, he realized

“This is...this is...so cruel,” Harry whispered.

Tom had the capacity for so much cruelty that sometimes, it scared Harry.

“It is what it is. But, we’re going to save Sirius,” Fred said, firmly, bumping gently against Harry’s back. Harry nodded, never tearing his eyes away from the tower. He looked up.

Drifting past one of the windows was a dementor. It was humanoid in shape but, much larger. It was about Hagrid’s size, covered in a dark hooded cloak of long, tattered black cloth. It had large hands that glistened, greyish and slimy in the cool air. Harry shivered. It was so cold. The dementor seemed to turn towards them and it let out a deep rattle that seemed to echo.

Harry realized that the dementor was rattling to the others, alerting them that they were there.

“It’s going to know. It’s going to know,” George whispered, tugging his cloak further over his head. Kingsley cleared his throat.

“Not immediately. They aren’t going to know immediately,” Kingsley corrected.

“But, eventually?” Fred whispered.

Kingsley nodded. “Eventually, they’ll notice that Tonks isn’t...well,” he trailed off and they continued to follow. Harry stayed close to Tonks’ side as she glided forward, keeping her face as still as possible.

“How many prisoners are here?” Harry whispered.

Tonks hummed. “Not many. Two dozen, at most. Those that are forgotten or disloyal to the crown. The Founders used Azkaban as well,” Tonks said, gently.

Harry shook his head. “When I’m King...there will be no more of _them,_ ” Harry said, hesitant of calling their names for fear that they would hear.

Tonks hummed as she approached the great concrete doors. She lifted her hands and slowly drew her wand over her palm, splitting the skin. She smeared the blood across the door and Harry watched it creak open.

“She’s a Slytherin,” Remus murmured. “I guess there’s the proof.”

“Did you really doubt me?” Tonks-as-Bellatrix asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“Well, I’d hoped you weren’t,” Remus muttered as they entered Azkaban Prison.

Harry shivered. Somehow, it was even colder inside. He could see his breath, cloudy and full with every breath. He glanced over at the twins and shuddering so hard that their teeth chattered. Harry wasn’t surprised. They were both from Karnaron. At least, Harry grew up in Little Whinging which was on the border of Essetir and Gamalaot, the East and the North.

The entrance hall to Azkaban Prison was exactly as Harry had pictured it. It was all cold stone and concrete. The ceilings were high and it was lit only by the weak, grey light that streamed inside through the slit windows.

“Patronuses, now,” Tonks murmured as they passed another dementor that rattled gently and Harry felt his despair grow. Tonks’ teeth were clenched as she forced herself to take another step forward.

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Remus and Kingsley cast together.

Harry watched as two animals lept forth—a large wolf and a lynx. They were both gorgeous creatures of light and the dementors seemed to cower away from it, passing high over their heads. Harry felt some of his warmth return but, he could still see his breath.

Tonks held up her chin and continued forward eyes cold.

Suddenly, a great dementor, larger than all the rest, swooped down in front of them, unafraid of the two Patronuses that stood as sentries on either side of the group. It hovered just at the foot of the steps that they had attempted to ascend. The dementor was draped in silver cloth and seemed slightly stooped, as if it were elderly but, Harry knew that was impossible. He knew then, that this was an Old One—one of the first dementors.

It rattled threateningly at them.

“We are Queen Bellatrix the Beautiful. You will allow us through,” Tonks-as-Bellatrix spat, furiously and the dementor lingered for only a moment, reaching out with its large hand. “Keep your _filthy_ hands from us. We are the Queen-Empress of Albion!”

Her shrieks echoed back at them painfully, bouncing around the Entrance Hall. The dementor regarded her for a long moment, only waiting. Harry held his breath, slowly reaching into his cloak for his wand.

And the dementor gave a soft rattle before it ascended back to its spot on the ceiling. Though Harry knew dementors to be blind, he had the feeling of being watched anyway.

“That was scary,” Fred whispered.

“Definitely scary,” George confirmed.

“Let us go,” Tonks-as-Bellatrix said, haughty and terrifying.

Quickly, they ascended the stairs, following Tom’s instructions. He had had Sirius locked away at the top floor of the tower, terribly alone. It had been part of his torture, according to Tom, though that had been Bellatrix’s idea—not his. He’d been adamant about that. Harry had winced through the description anyway.

Slowly, they ascended the stone steps, their footsteps echoing throughout the entire prison. Harry had no doubt that every prisoner there knew that someone else was in this prison. He wondered if that was purposeful. Their presence was meant to bring terror to a terrifying existence. Harry shook his head. He knew for certain that he would return to free all of the prisoners—every man, woman, or creature—that was locked away in this terrible place.

He would banish the dementors, these soul-sucking creatures that would haunt his nightmares.

They were all out of breath by the time they reached the top.

There was only one hallway.

They could hear his breathing.

Tonks held up her wand. “ _Lumos_ ,” she breathed in her not-voice. The end of her wand lit up brightly, casting everything in a ghostly light.

Harry pressed himself closer to her side as they approached the very last cell. He backed up against the wall as Tonks approached the bars.

Sirius Black looked nothing and everything like Harry had expected. His skin looked dusty and pale, nothing like Regulus’ smooth brown skin. His hair was long, past his hips and though it looked matted and dirty, Sirius had tried to maintain it in a simple braid over his shoulder. That didn’t help that the end looked like they had been gnawed at by rats. His robes hung off him in tatters, and though he looked tall, he was backed against the corner of his cell, in a little crouch.

The entire floor stunk of urine and shit. Harry glanced at the bucket in the corner of the cell.

That explained it.

“T-the Mad Queen has decided to grace me with his presence.”

Harry leaned against the opposite wall, shivering as Kingsley and Remus's Patronuses patrolled the hall, walking back and forth, guarding them against the dementors that lurked.

She had barely changed her natural face at all, only sharpening it, making her hair darker and straighter. She looked far too much like Bellatrix for her comfort.

“Sirius Black, I have come to make a deal with you,” Tonks-as-Bellatrix said, her voice soft and lilting, sending a chill down Harry’s spine. It sounded so strange and terribly wrong coming out of Tonks’ mouth. That terrifying voice.

Sirius gave a rusty laugh that shrieked in Harry’s ears, making him cringe despite his resolve to stay composed.

“A-a deal? N-now, why would I make a deal with you? M-my m-mother, though a bloody bitch, always said to avoid d-d-deals with demons and other abominations,” Sirius mocked and he stood, wobbling on fatless legs, made of bones and loose skin. He grinned with a mouth full of crooked, yellow teeth.

“I come to free you,” Tonks said and she shed her disguise as easily as a molting snake. Sirius jerked back as Tonks’ hair shrunk into her head, turning into pink spikes, and her face rounded out somewhat. “I’m Tonks and I’m a member of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“T-that was a trick. Who are you really?” Sirius barked, full of fury. Remus emerged from the shadows, lifting his hands. Sirius cringed, thrown off by the emergence of one of his oldest friends. “Who are you?”

“Sirius, no. It’s really us. It’s _me_ ,” Remus whispered.

“Prove it,” Sirius snapped.

“Padfoot. It’s me. Moony,” Remus murmured, reaching through the bars and grabbing at Sirius’ hands, smoothing his thumbs over the jagged, broken nails on his friend’s bony hands. Sirius let out a broken sob, falling against the bars. “We’re here to save you. It’s really the Order.”

“H-how? H-how are you…” Sirius broke off, weeping noisily.

“Your Grace...there’s not much time,” Kingsley warned from the end of the corridor.

Sirius looked up, wide-eyed. “G-Grace?”

And Harry pushed off the wall, pulling down his hood, easily catching Sirius’ attention.

“Sirius Black,” Harry said, softly.

“Who are you, boy?” Sirius murmured.

"I'm Harry Potter, son of Lily Gryffindor and James Potter. And we're here to break you out of Azkaban. Stand back," Harry said, firmly. He knew that there wasn't a single spell that would unlock the bars but he wasn't afraid. Tonks and Remus backed away from the doors. Harry glanced over his shoulder. "How's it looking?"

“Dementors are close. Tonks, Remus, help?” Fred shouted.

Remus hesitated, looking back at Sirius before turning to look at the twins.

“I’m not leaving Harry alone. You know I won’t,” Tonks said, refusing to look away. Remus sighed and nodded, reaching to squeeze her wrist.

“I can’t leave Sirius. You know I won’t,” he said patiently.

Harry rolled his eyes. “We’ll just hurry this up. Do you think I can blast it open?” Harry asked.

“No,” Tonks said, firmly. “It’s spelled to be resistant to magic. He’s thin. Sirius, do you think you can slip through the bars?”

“N-no. I’ve tried,” Sirius whispered.

“Well, I’m going to try to blast it open,” Harry promised, lifting his wand with eyes narrowed. He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m going to try to break the door open. My Patronus might drop. But, keep it up.”

Remus’ eyes narrowed. “Wait. Have you tried...your other form, Sirius?”

Sirius’ grey eyes widened, awe shoving aside his despair for a moment.

"N-no, I'll…" Sirius began and then he lurched, falling to his knees and squirming and shifting. Harry watched with wide eyes as Sirius' face elongated into a longer nose, and black fur sprouted along his skin until in his place was a rather large if emaciated, dog.

“What...he doesn’t have a wand!” Harry protested.

“He’s an Animagus,” Tonks said in wonder. She looked over at Remus with wide eyes. “Why did you never tell me?”

“This isn’t really the time,” Remus said, flatly before turning back towards Sirius. “Come on, Padfoot. Squeeze through!”

Harry knew the exact moment that it was over. Sirius slipped through the bars and then Kingsley was shouting. Harry couldn’t exactly make out what he was saying because the despair was deafening. Harry threw himself back as the dementors swooped down the hall, their cloth draped faces parted over the wide, rotting mouths. Harry felt so cold, like every bit of warm in the world was missing. He tried to call his Fire but, he found only ashes.

Harry’s vision began to blur.

Fred and George were clutching one another, trying to keep themselves from toppling over. Remus was whining softly. Tonks was standing ramrod straight, unmoving, her eyes flickering across the air. Harry fell to one knee, crumbling under the weight of such sadness.

And then, his hand brushed against fur. He looked down as Padfoot pushed against his side. Harry let out a deep breath, shuddering. He was going to die in Azkaban. He was going to die before saving the Muggleborn girl, before fighting for the throne that was his, before delivering justice. He was going to die without telling Tom that he loved him, that he was _loved_ , no matter what he believed, one more time.

_Tom._

Harry slowly pushed himself to stand as the largest dementor—the Old One— swooped up in front of him and loomed, reaching out to him with it's large, scabbed, grey claw. He felt one nail brush against his forehead, where his scar was. The only blemish that had ever been on his skin. The lightning bolt. He would die before seeing him again.

 _Tom._ His _Tom._

“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ ”

Out of the end of his wand burst forth a great white beast. Harry watched as the white form took shape; tall, proud antlers, and large heave body. Harry trembled as his guardian took a step forward.

“Prongs,” Remus whispered.

The stag thundered forward, battling back the dementors, sending them flying away in bursts of white light. As the Patronus cantered back and forth, scattering the harbingers of fear, Harry felt his warmth return and the Patronus seemed to burn even brighter, as bright as the sun. He let out a deep breath, breathing through the rush of magic until all the dementors were gone.

Slowly, Prongs flickered away and there was a long moment of silence.

Remus looked at Harry with an expression that Harry had never seen before.

“You...I understand,” Remus whispered.

Harry took a deep shuddering breath, trembling with exhaustion. He felt a hand on his elbow and he looked back at Tonks. Terror pulsed through his body.

“What?” Harry rasped.

Tonks shook her head and grabbed Harry’s hand. “It’s time to go. It’s time to _run._ ”

* * *

 

**FAIREST**

* * *

 

“I cast a Patronus. _I_ cast a Patronus. And you can't," Harry laughed as he fell on the mess of blankets and pillows that acted as his bed whenever he was on a mission. He rolled his eyes when Tom barely acknowledged him, choosing instead to look at the tent wall while he slouched in his chair, calmly drinking wine.

“Sirius Black is out there, mad from years of prison, and all you can consider is that you can cast a little Charm that I cannot,” Tom drawled.

Harry sat up, grinning. “It’s not a little Charm, Tom. You can’t go to Azkaban by yourself because you can’t cast a Patronus. That’s a little sad,” he teased.

“Yes, very well. Ignore the first part of my sentence. Sirius Black. This is a terrible idea,” Tom growled, draining the rest of his goblet and slamming it down on the side table. Harry sat back on his haunches, knotting his fingers in the blankets.

“Are you afraid of him?”

“I’m not afraid of anyone,” Tom barked.

“You’re afraid of me,” Harry retorted.

Tom scoffed. “You’re not just anyone, are you?”

Harry’s cheeks flushed with pleasure and Tom tried not to smile, rolling his eyes as Harry beamed at him. They stared at each other for a long moment, drinking one another in. Harry squirmed through the tense silence. Slowly, Harry’s smile faded into something more serious.

“I won’t let anyone change my mind about you, Tom,” Harry said. He crawled forward until he was kneeling just in front of Tom’s spread legs and he smoothed his hands up Tom’s shins, over his knees before digging his nails into the meat of his thighs. “Nothing can change my mind.”

“Change your mind about what?” Tom asked, his eyes burning bright as he looked down at Harry.

“You are not bad,” Harry said, firmly.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

"You have done terrible things, Tom Slytherin but, you are not bad," Harry whispered. Tom stared down at him for a long moment before he leaned down, softly pressing their lips together. Harry reached up with one hand, pressing his fingers into the back of Tom's neck, holding him there as they shared a sweet kiss, made more of air than anything else.

Harry pulled back and his lips curled with mischief.

“What are you smirking about, sweetling?” Tom asked, leaning back in his chair again.

Harry hummed, leaning back on his haunches.

“I seem to remember something you said to me once,” Harry said.

“I’ve said many things to you,” Tom allowed.

“ ‘I want to teach you how to suck a man’s cock’,” Harry mimicked as easily as breathing. Tom choked over air, looking down at the King with wide eyes.

“Excuse me?”

"Teach me how to suck cock," Harry demanded, crossing his arms and staring up at Tom, defiantly. Tom swallowed around his suddenly dry mouth and he felt his cock twitch in his tight trousers. Harry's lips curled into a smile. So, he'd seen that too.

“You’re feeling particularly bratty today, aren’t you?” Tom asked, attempting to deflect.

Harry ignored it. “Teach me how to suck your cock, my _Lord_ ,” Harry drawled.

Tom groaned, letting his head fall back against his chair.

“We just broke a man out of prison,” the Dark Lord reminded him.

Harry whined, “I just want to suck your cock, Tom. Every man wants to get their cock sucked and you suck mine enough. Let me return the favor.”

“Gods above. Let’s do this on the—” Tom began, standing suddenly and unlacing his trousers when Harry reached up and shoved him back in his chair. Tom looked down at him, suddenly alarmed.

“No...I...I want to do it here,” Harry said, firmly. His cheeks were flushed pink but, he looked up at the man, determined. Tom swallowed and nodded, leaning up to push his trousers down over his thighs, revealing the half-mast cock resting on his thighs.

“Harry…” Tom started.

Harry leaned forward, bracing himself on Tom’s knees. He looked up through his eyelashes, and Tom groaned again, his cock growing harder by the second.

“Just...it probably won’t be any good,” Harry apologized.

Tom swallowed. “You strike me as a fast learner. Just...put it in your mouth, don’t use your teeth, and anything you can’t fit in your mouth, cover with your hand.”

Harry looked up at him, unimpressed, and opened his mouth to say something that would no doubt be snarky before he thought better of it. Instead, a coy look crossed his face and he leaned in, taking Tom's cock by the root and staring at it. Tom frowned down at him and went to taunt him before he gasped as Harry licked the underside, from root to the tip, chasing a vein with tongue. Harry smirked. He laid a kiss to the tip of his cock, licking gently around the head.

Tom couldn't look away.

 

“Somehow, love, I don’t think you’re going to have anything to complain about.”

* * *

**OF**

* * *

 

None of it felt real.

He felt like he was floating through the air.

He thinks about the boy. The boy that had said his name was Harry and Sirius didn’t doubt it. He couldn’t. The boy was beautiful. The most beautiful person Sirius had ever seen though, that might be due to the fact that Sirius had only seen terror for the past seventeen years. But, it hadn’t been the hair that had convinced Sirius. It had been the boy’s eyes.

He had Lily’s _eyes_.

Sirius had never seen anyone else with eyes like Lily’s.

“W-what do they call him?” Sirius rasped, shivering despite the layers of blankets wrapped around his shoulders.

“He has many titles,” one of the twins said. Sirius wasn’t sure yet which one it was—Fred or George. He was proud of himself for even remembering their names.

“But, he likes to be called the Tosser That Lives,” the other twin said.

Sirius’ eyes widened.

“Don’t listen to them,” Kingsley said, his voice deep, rumbling, and warm. It made Sirius feel safe, and he pressed closer to the flames, soaking in all of the warmth. “His list of titles is long. Only Tonks knows it all.”

The pink-haired woman looked up at the sound of her name. Her lips quirked into a tired smile.

"Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, the Wyrdfod, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Afallon, the Alpha of the Pride, and the Fairest-of-Them-All," Tonks rattled off, as if it was committed to memory. Sirius didn't doubt that they were. He slowly parsed through them.

‘Harry’ just like Lily named him. ‘Wildfyre’ just like James called him.

Gryffindor. Potter. Emperor. King.

“What’s the ‘Wyrdfod’? ‘The Fairest-of-Them All?” Sirius rasped.

Tonks' lips curled into a small smile and she looked out across the flames. Sirius followed her gaze and was stricken again by how old Remus looked. He looked aged in a way that Sirius' soul felt. And Remus wasn't looking at him. When Sirius had seen him again, he'd felt like weeping in happiness and grief. He hadn't. But, Remus did, and now, he couldn't look at him. Sirius wasn't surprised or hurt. It always took Remus a long time to process his emotions.

“The Wyrdfod is what the creatures call him. The Fairest...well you’ve seen him,” Tonks said with a shrug.

Sirius nodded. Harry was beautiful. He was the most beautiful person Sirius had ever seen, including Lily. It was terrifying. It was awe-inspiring. It was wholly confusing.

“So...he’s King? Really?” Sirius whispered. “The Slytherins fell?”

“We’re at war,” one of the twins said, sounding grim. “It...we’ve been a war for a long time but, all of this really started when on the anniversary of the Lily Gryffindor’s death, the Slytherins executed our uncles. In front of everyone. And they declared that the Fairest, the true heir, lived. And then—”

“That’s not our story to tell,” Kingsley said, firmly and the twins fell silent, looking at one another before nodding at their superior. Kingsley looked at Sirius with kind eyes. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what his Grace wants you to know yet. You understand.”

“I...I guess. I just...it’s all happened so fast,” Sirius whispered. He looked up, suddenly ashamed as his stomach rumbled. “May I have more food?”

“You don’t need to ask,” one of the twins said, pushing over the bowl of broth and a large chunk of hard bread. Sirius dug in, soaking the bread and ripping into it. It tasted so delicious after so many years of gruel, it might as well have been one of the feasts from Hogwarts.

Sirius wondered if there were still feasts like the ones from his childhood.

“Where are we going after this?” he asked between bites of food.

“Afallon. We’re set up at Westeron. Harry decided you were too weak for Portkey travel right now. I’m inclined to believe he’s right,” Kingsley said, firmly.

Sirius looked up to the tent at the edge of the clearing, his eyes narrowed.

“And he’s...he’s in there?” he asked, softly.

Tonks pursed her lips. “Yes. He’s in there. Discussing our next move.”

“Alone?” Sirius asked.

One of the twins snorted. “Oh, he’s not alone. I think they’re finishing up.”

Sure enough, Sirius saw shadows moving by the tent entrance and Harry backed out first, speaking in soft tones to someone that must be much taller. They slowly left the tent and Sirius gasped as if he’d been holding his breath for a long time.

"Voldemort?" Sirius whispered, a sudden chill running down his spine. Red eyes turned to him, and his lips were tilted in a satisfied smirk as he led Harry out of the tent towards the open. The Black leaned forward as Voldemort turned to look at Harry and whispered something low to him. Harry turned bright red and swiftly punched the man in the stomach.

“Harry! Run!” Sirius called, already cringing from the Cruciatus Curse that would come.

Harry looked up with a small frown and then smiled, waving.

“He’s not running from him,” Tonks said.

“I...I’m so confused,” Sirius said, softly. “Voldemort? Why...he’s here? What’s happening?”

"Bellatrix is dead. Harry made a Deal. My uncle is his bitch," Tonks summarized around the roast meat that she was shoveling into her mouth.

Sirius’ eyes widened.

“Uncle?” he asked, softly.

“Oh. Right. I’m Nymphadora Tonks. Andromeda’s daughter. Wotcher, cousin,” Tonks said with a wink and she stood up, her red cloak swinging around her. “I think...this would be better for Harry to explain. And don’t worry, I’ll keep Uncle away from you.”

* * *

**THEM**

* * *

 

Harry swallowed hard, still tasting Tom on the back of his tongue as he pushed open the tent flaps. He looked over at the fire and saw the twins laid out, curled towards one another, snoring softly. Kingsley was resting, his back pressed against conjured pillows. Tonks would be the first to take watch. She preferred sitting up, especially, if she had Remus at her side.

Sirius still wasn’t sleeping, staring into the flames. Harry made a move towards him, intent on speaking with him when he was cut off by a lean figure.

Harry jumped as he looked up at Remus.

“Harry...I only wanted to speak with you for a moment,” Remus said, softly. Harry looked up, his eyes wide and he wiped at his mouth again with the back of his hand, self-consciously. Remus’ eyes widened at the movement and Harry flushed.

“I...uh...I just ate,” Harry blurted out.

Remus stared at him for a bit longer before he nodded, preferring to take the blatant lie at face value than to really assess what Harry had been doing in the tent with the Dark Lord.

“Okay. But, could we speak?” Remus asked. “About Sirius.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course,” Harry said, waving him over towards the edge of the clearing. They began to pace, half of their faces cast in shadow and the other illuminated by the roaring fire. “Do you think he’ll be well enough to travel by dawn?”

“I think so. A Portkey will take its toll but, it’s better for him to heal in Westeron. Where we have the proper Healers and food and hot water and everything,” Remus said, thinking of everything that must be luxuries to Sirius after having spent seventeen years imprisoned. “But, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“Oh. I see. What is it?” Harry asked, pleasantly.

“I would...I know we’ve only just started to get to know one another. And that’s my fault. Entirely. But, I’d ask that you...perhaps, would consider shielding Sirius from some of the baser facts of the war,” Remus said as delicately as possible.

Harry stared at him, obstinately. “What do you mean?”

Remus’ cheeks turned a dusty pink. “I mean...that perhaps, you shouldn’t flaunt your relationship with the Dark Lord in front of him.”

Harry stopped in his walking even as Remus continued. Remus stopped and turned around to look at him, his brow furrowed.

“How...do you mean?” Harry asked, softly.

“Harry, none of us are blind. Eventually, Sirius will find out about what you did to ensure the Dark Lord’s loyalty. But, I don’t think he should know about your current relationship. It’ll only put a strain on him that we can’t afford, especially when we need him to reach into his memories,” Remus said, softly.

“I’m not ashamed of him,” Harry whispered. “And I’m not going to act like I am to spare someone’s feelings. Someone I don’t even know.”

“It’s not only for his sake. What will people think—”

“People already _know_! You just told me that!” Harry shouted. He looked up and saw the eyes on them and he turned away from those grey curious eyes that sought him out. His eyes narrowed on Remus. “Do you not respect me? Because I choose to be with him?”

"No, not at all. I respect you, Harry. It's just...it's just carnal pleasure. Isn't it?" Remus asked. And then he saw the look on Harry's face like he was being cornered. "It isn't."

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Remus. Perhaps, we are friends now. But...I am still your King,” Harry said, his voice trembling, his face torn between disbelief and fear. “You need to leave me alone.”

“Harry, you can’t _possibly_...he killed your parents. My best friends. He imprisoned the man I call my brother for seventeen years. Your godfather. He has murdered and tortured—”

“You think I don’t know that?” Harry roared.

And the fire burned brighter, rising to his rage.

It stopped when a hand wrapped around his wrist. Harry looked up at Tonks, his eyes wide. She was watching Remus through carefully shuttered eyes.

“Remus, my dear, I need to talk to Harry for a moment,” Tonks said. She didn’t make it sound like a request. So, she was pulling rank. Remus glared at her and then collapsed in on himself, looking resigned.

“Fine. I’m going to check in on Sirius. The twins will keep him entertained but they might overwhelm him,” Remus said. He stormed away and Harry let Tonks pull him deeper into shadows.

Harry pressed his hand over his mouth and screamed. Tonks let him.

“Fuck. _Fuck_ ,” Harry hissed. “I can’t... _fuck._ ”

He looked up at Tonks, helplessly.

“You love him,” Tonks reminded him.

It wasn’t accusatory or angry. Just a fact that made Harry’s cheeks bright red. He looked away, biting his lower lip.

“I…”

“Harry, love, you’ve already told me this. Don’t be embarrassed,” Tonks said, firmly. “And you don’t need to apologize for it either. You _never_ have to apologize for being in love.”

“Then, why is everyone...why does it feel like everyone hates me? I just...I can’t help it,” Harry whispered.

“He’s very charming,” Tonks allowed.

“That’s not it!” Harry said immediately. Tonks looked at him, surprised. “He’s not…I know things about him, Tonks. I know things that he’s never told _anyone_ before. Things about his past, about what he had to do. Things that he didn’t want to do. Things that warped him anyway. I know his monsters. I know his nightmares and how terribly sad he is and I love him anyway. I love him so much it hurts. And then, I remember that he is a terrible man that has done terrible things.”

Harry looked over at Tonks. He saw nothing but complete and utter understanding and he was without fear of judgment or shame.

"Harry, of course, you love him," she sighed, almost exasperated, though she smiled. "We are all fools in love."

“I won’t be,” Harry said, firmly. He took a step back and looked over at the flames. Sirius was staring at him now. Harry cleared his throat. “I need to speak with Sirius.”

Tonks nodded. “I’ll keep watch. Remus doesn’t mean any harm, you know,” Tonks said, almost apologetically. Harry didn’t answer, walking towards Sirius instead.

As Harry drew closer to the flames, he grew more and more comforted. He sat down in the dirt, looking up at Sirius.

“Hello, Sirius Black. I’m Harry Wildfyre,” Harry said with a small smile.

Sirius swallowed, looking down at him, wide-eyed.

“You’re James’ son. Lily’s son?” Sirius asked, his voice cracking and breaking.

“Yes. I am,” Harry said, kindly.

Sirius swallowed hard. “I didn’t...you’re not what I pictured,” Sirius said.

“I’m not what anyone pictures,” Harry said, biting his lip against the wide smile that threatened to spread across his face. He reached back towards the flames, dragging his fingers through it. He laughed softly at the look on Sirius’ face. “I’m sure you have many questions. I’ll try to answer all of them.”

“Voldemort?” Sirius asked, immediately.

Harry hummed, looking out into the shadows where Tom had disappeared.

“Many things have changed while you were away, Sirius. The Dark Lord is loyal to me. Only me,” Harry said, gently.

“You can’t really—”

“He made an Unbreakable Vow to be loyal to me in perpetuity,” Harry interrupted. He smiled at the stricken look on Sirus’ face and he reached out to grab the older man’s trembling hands, warming them with the fire that he gripped tight in his fists. “Sirius, I told you. The world has changed. But, it’s late and we shouldn’t talk about it now.”

“Why? There’s so much...I don’t know...where are there bodies?” Sirius asked, his voice broken.

Harry hushed him gently with a quiet smile. “I’ve been to their tomb, Sirius. And it’s beautiful. When it’s all over, we’ll go together. Now, sleep. In the morning, we go home.”

* * *

 

**ALL?**

* * *

 

Regulus stood on the steps of Westeron, his fingers laced with Andromeda’s. Every few moments, she would squeeze his hand and he would squeeze back, to anchor himself. It had been a day but, he hadn’t been able to go inside or do anything since the King and his cohorts had left. Dawn was nearing. Regulus knew that the moment that Sirius was up to it, they would arrive.

“Do you think he’s...is he…” Regulus trailed off, his voice cracking on his words. He felt so young, far younger than he truly was. Andromeda looked down at him with a sad look and shook her head.

“I don’t think he’s whole but...I know he’s alive, Regulus. I can feel it,” Andromeda said, firmly. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him tight against her. For once, Regulus liked that his surrogate mother was taller than him. He pressed his face into her neck and trembled as he suppressed his tears.

He pulled away from her as he felt the air change and tremble with magic. Regulus was holding his breath, his heart beating loud between his ears. He watched the space in front of the steps warp and turn blue, and suddenly, they were there.

Remus and Tonks stood on either side of the pair of them. The Dark Lord was towards the back of the group, with the twins and Kingsley. They all looked a little worse for wear, with the exception of the Dark Lord, and in dire need of some chocolate. Regulus wished that he had had the foresight to have someone prepare hot chocolate for them all after such great exposure to dementors.

But, in truth, Regulus only had eyes for the two men in the center. Harry was close to the man’s side, his hand on his elbow, steadying him. The man’s beard was long and overgrown, filthy despite looking like he’d just gone through a wash. His hair was a long mess of tangles but, Regulus recognized those eyes. They were the same eyes that stared at him in the mirror. They had always been considered odd eyes, strange when their skin was brown and dusky.

“S-Sirius,” Regulus whispered.

And Sirius finally looked up at him. He startled, looking quite thrown.

“R-Reg? Regulus?” he rasped. His voice crunched and churned, unpleasantly, long rusty from disuse. But, Regulus would recognize that voice anywhere.

Regulus ripped himself away from Andromeda and ran. Sirius limped forward and then they were crashing into each other, holding onto one another and sinking down to their knees. Regulus buried his face in Sirus’ neck and wept, tears leaving streaks of clean skin through the dirt caked on his brother’s body.

"Regulus. Regulus. Regulus," Sirius chanted as if reminding himself. Regulus pulled back, holding Sirius tight by the shoulders so he could memorize his face. "You're alive. You're okay."

“So are you. I fought for you, brother. I never gave up. _Ever_ ,” Regulus said, firmly. He couldn’t stop crying, hiccuping great ugly sobs. He had never been a pretty crier, nor a public one, but he couldn’t seem to muster up the shame. “Please believe me.”

“I believe you, brother. Please...Reg, stop crying. I’m home,” Sirius whispered, raising a hand to wipe his little brother’s tears away. “I’m home.”

Regulus only cried harder.

Sirius was _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol. Here's the next chapter? I got really excited.
> 
> And now, I can really work because the next chapters are literally it. That's the end of Cinders, and it's kinda a massive two-parter so I just wanted to get this additional transitional chapter out of the way.
> 
> If you follow Diagnosis, I should have another chapter up by tomorrow night, Saturday night latest.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

 

“So...you said that there’s an underground entrance? Here?” Harry asked, leaning over Sirius’ shoulder and pointing right outside of the lines. He inspected the layout for the basement level of Rowena’s haven, making sure to memorize it all. Sirius looked up with sparkling grey eyes, nodding slowly.

"Yes. Y-you cut through here, go to the statue garden. T-tap on the statue of Helena and you slide into the base," Sirius said. He looked over at Regulus who waited by the window, ever watchful of the palace he'd claimed as his own. Sirius sighed, frustrated with his persistent stutter.

“It’s fine, Sirius,” Regulus said without looking away from the training. “You’ve only been out for three days.”

“B-but, I-I c-can’t fight like this. I can’t even g-get out a sp-sp- _spell_ ,” Sirius snarled, spitting out the word with a sort of venom that could only come out of never-ending frustration. Harry gave a small smile, shaking his head.

“You don’t even have a wand, yet, Sirius. Don’t worry about fighting. You’re helping in the best way now,” Harry insisted, ignoring the look of disbelief the Black Lord cast him.

“B-but, I can—”

"No, Sirius, you cannot. You can barely stand for long," Regulus said, finally tearing his eyes away from whatever had captured his attention. He drew himself up, arms crossed, and for a moment, Harry thought he resembled Percy in his most pompous, self-righteous though well-meaning state. "You still cannot eat the meals that we eat. It is too hearty for you. You haven't got a wand yet, and you have a stutter. You _cannot_ go on this mission.”

“B-but, I’m the only one that k-knows the castle!” Sirius protested.

Regulus stormed over, sitting in the chair across from Harry and his godfather.

“That’s why you’re teaching Harry. And he’ll teach the Dark Lord,” Regulus said, firmly.

Sirius scoffed at the mention, shivering violently. "Voldemort? W-what does he care?"

“He cares, Sirius,” Regulus said, firmly, never tearing his eyes away from his brother, even as Harry looked at him with soft, pleading eyes. “Trust me and the gods. The Dark Lord cares.”

“I-it’s all just a trick anyway. H-he locked me away in Azkaban. F-for seventeen years,” Sirius snarled, his grey eyes festering with hatred and Harry swallowed at the sight of it, momentarily shaken.

“And now you’re out. If he didn’t want you out, you wouldn’t be. Right?” Harry whispered softly and Sirius looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“I-I suppose,” Sirius said. He leaned forward, a bright look in his eyes. “Y-you d-don’t look anything like I thought you would. T-they call you t-the Fairest.”

“Yes, I suppose they do,” Harry said.

“What does that mean, exactly?” Regulus asked, suddenly curious. “It was never...clear.”

“It means that if the Dark Lord ever wanted immortality and eternal beauty, he would cut out my heart and eat it raw,” Harry said, as plainly as he could. He rolled his eyes at the horrified stares on the Black brothers’ faces. “Please, he’s not going to do it.”

“H-how do you know?” Sirius squeaked.

“Because he made an Unbreakable Vow that he wouldn’t, Sirius. And we have an...understanding,” Harry allowed. He ignored the way Regulus’ lips curled into a sneer of disgust.

"A-an understanding," Sirius muttered under his breath. "T-this is surreal, you know. I-I'm your godfather a-and I k-know nothing about you. W-what's your favorite f-food? Y-your favorite animal?"

“I know nothing about you either. We’re even,” Harry said with a grin. “I like treacle tart. And my dragon, Freia.”

“D-dragon?” Sirius barked.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Yes. A dragon. I didn’t believe it either until I saw her.”

“My sweet dragon. She’s a Horntail,” Harry said with a smile. “I’ll introduce you when you’re up to going outside.”

Sirius shook his head in disbelief. He swallowed hard and then glanced at Regulus. Then he looked back at Harry, a sad look on his face.

“You’re s-s-so much like James,” he decided.

“What? I’ve never been told that,” Harry said, his eyes wide with interest. “I’ve always been told that I resemble my mother more. Lily.”

“Y-yes, i-in a lot of ways. B-but, you _t-trust_ too easily. T-That was James," Sirius said, and though he didn't say it like it was a terrible thing, Harry felt his cheeks flush with something that nearly felt like shame anyway. "Y-you should be wary."

“Wary,” Harry repeated softly.

Sirius took his time speaking now, careful to keep his stutter in check. “Well...I’ve noticed...that Voldemort has access to you. It’s not...safe.”

“He can’t hurt me. He would never hurt me,” Harry said. Sirius looked surprised by how sure Harry was. Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs. “Sirius, a lot has changed.”

“N-no one can change t-that much,” Sirius said stubbornly.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a matter for debate.”

“I-I’m your godfather. I-I have to keep y-you safe!” Sirius shouted, his voice still hoarse and thus, losing much of the intended effect. Harry snarled.

“Keep me safe? From your cell in Azkaban?” Harry hissed. The flames in the fireplace began to grow, spitting sparks dangerously. Regulus looked between the two, alarmed. “You don’t _get_ an opinion on him. I’m so, _so_ tired of people having _opinions_ about him. You don’t know him at all.”

“And y-you do? N-no one k-knows him, H-Harry,” Sirius demanded.

“I. Do. This _isn’t_ a matter for debate. You may be my godfather but, I don’t even fucking _know_ you. I'm your King. This isn't a debate. This conversation is over," Harry snarled and he gasped when a burst of flames punctuated his small speech. Sirius' eyes widened as the flames from the fireplace leaped forward, wrapping themselves around Harry like a shield.

“Your Grace,” Regulus said, alarmed.

Harry took a step back and took three shaky breaths, slowly breathing away the flames before the room was suddenly a few degrees colder. He shook his head.

“I’m...I’m…” Harry rasped. He gathered himself. “I’m sorry about the Fire. Not about what I said. You don’t get to question Tom. _I_ question Tom.”

“Tom?” Sirius asked in confusion.

Harry took a deep breath. “That’s his name, Sirius. His _name._ You know he’s got one, right?” Harry whispered. “It’s not… ‘the Dark Lord’ or ‘Voldemort’. He’s a person. Have you all forgotten that?”

He didn't let them say another word, storming from the room. He was already cursing himself for his stupidity. Harry had seen the validity in Remus' argument in the end. It was best to keep Sirius in the dark until after his recovery but, Harry's patience was quickly fraying. He was tired of everyone's _opinions_ about who got to be in his bed, and who didn’t. He was tired of being told who he could love and who he couldn’t. Harry had been told what to do his whole life, and he didn’t necessarily mind when it came to politics—some had a much better knack for it than him—but, not about that. He would _never_ compromise on Tom.

“You shouldn’t have done that, your Grace.”

Harry spun around, staring at Regulus. Regulus lifted his wand and cast privacy wards, allowing only the two of them to hear the burgeoning conversation.

“Done what? The Fire? I apologized, Regulus,” Harry sighed, feeling a thousand years older than he was.

“No. Not that. The Dark Lord kept Sirius in prison for nearly two decades. And you’re defending him? Why are you doing this to him, your Grace?” Regulus whispered. “He’s suffered enough.”

Harry took a deep breath. “I’ve suffered too, Regulus. I’m tired of my trauma being forgotten and disregarded because I’m beautiful. Because I don’t _look_ like I’ve suffered. I’ve suffered, Regulus, and he makes me incredibly happy. Happier than a gods-damned throne could ever make me. And I know we don’t know each other very well yet, but don’t you think I deserve to be _happy_?” Harry whispered, his voice cracking and pleading with vulnerability. Regulus’ eyes widened as he looked at him.

Regulus had never seen his King so raw and open.

“You...you do. But, with him?” Regulus whispered. “I don’t want Sirius to hate you—”

Harry’s eyes shuttered. All vulnerability was chased away by anger.

“Let him,” Harry growled. Regulus reared back, surprised by the irritation in Harry’s bright eyes. “You think I should be ashamed of him? I’m not. I’m not _ever_ going to be ashamed of him because his sins aren’t mine. And don’t feed me that _shit_ that I don’t understand the scope of what he’s done because I do. My parents are _dead_ because of him. My empire is _broken_ because of him. So, I understand.”

“Then, how do you do it?” Regulus snarled back. “How do you know all of these things and still flaunt your relationship with him?”

Harry didn't back down. "Because I believe that he's worth fighting for. He's done terrible things. Evil things. The things he's done are past mistakes but, everyone's got a story. I know his. His story is a gods' damned tragedy."

“Everyone’s got a tragedy, Harry,” Regulus snapped.

Harry took a step closer, his eyes narrowed. “Yeah. He’s _mine_.”

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Sirius watched through the paddock fence, his eyes wide as Harry ran around, chasing after the albino lioness that leaped away from him, growling playfully. Harry threw back his head, letting out a laugh as the lioness—Hedwig, Sirius was told—tackled him, nuzzling her face and licking his cheek, as if intent on grooming him. Harry wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the sharpness of her claws. He groaned when she collapsed all her weight on top of him.

“Come now, Hedwig! You’re too big for this!” Harry groaned against her mass but the white lioness ignored him, yowling in his face as if she were talking to him. Harry whined again through his laughter.

There was a screech and Sirius looked up at the same time as Hedwig and Harry. Sirius’ mouth dropped open in awe as he saw the great beast for the first time since he’d arrived at Westeron.

Freia was enormous though quite sleek. The crown of her head adorned with large spikes that trailed down her spine and tapered off at his tail. She flew through the air as if she owned everything above her and below her. She landed in the great space next to Harry and Hedwig, causing the ground to tremble. Hedwig jumped off Harry immediately, jumping and yowling at Freia, like they understood the same language.

Harry slowly stood up, his grin broadening as he walked up to Freia, grabbing her by the snout and rubbing his cheek in the space between her smoking nostrils.

“Extraordinary, isn’t it?”

Sirius turned towards Remus, a slow smile spreading across his face, as his oldest friend finally came to him.

“It is,” Sirius said, stilted.

He had learned in the past five days since his arrival that the best way to avoid his stutter was to be careful with his words. He had to slow down, a far cry from how he used to run his mouth at everyone and everything. Another thing lost at the hands of Slytherins.

“How...did this happen, Remus?” Sirius asked, softly.

Remus looked at him, a dry look on his face. “Which part, Sirius?”

“You...have a kid. L-Lily and James...are dead. Voldemort...is sworn t-to their son. T-their son has a _dragon_. H-how did this all happen?” Sirius asked.

The two remaining Marauders watched as Harry whispered softly to Freia, smoothing his hands over her scales while Hedwig loped around, weaving in between them with excitement. Hedwig yowled once more before she settled into the tight space between Harry and Freia, right underneath Freia’s large head.

“Time,” Remus said, finally. “Time passed. Harry grew up and he became this...extraordinary human being.”

Sirius nodded slowly. He didn’t even know Harry, not really, but he could see how amazing he was. Harry was fair and powerful and beautiful and gracious. Sirius had seen him training with the troops, commanding them with an ease that even McGonagall didn’t possess. He fought with a brutality Sirius didn’t think he’d possess. Seeing him go up against the Weasley boy, McGonagall’s protege, had been a revelation. Ron had looked shocked when Harry had introduced him to the dirt. Harry was the perfect King.

“H-he is e-extraordinary. I wish I k-knew him,” Sirius stammered.

Remus looked down, overwhelmed with guilt. “I wish I did too. I’ve only just started speaking with him. Recently. It hurt too much. Before.”

“Remus...I understand that you need time, b-but...h-he’s the last of them. Y-you were supposed to…” Sirius trailed off. He didn’t know what Remus was supposed to do, but ignoring Harry wasn’t it in the slightest. “W-what’s he like? W-who does he speak to?”

“He’s kind but, has a fierce temper. Like Lily. He likes to laugh and he loves his companions: Freia and Hedwig. He has Tonks. They spend hours locked away together, whispering and gossiping. They got on from the moment they met,” Remus said. He sighed, leaning forward. “He’s friends with most of the Weasleys. He spends a lot of his time with... _him_.”

Sirius' eyes narrowed as Voldemort strode forward, leaving behind Andromeda. He leaped over the fence and went directly towards Harry. Sirius swallowed hard as Voldemort went directly up to Harry, and bumped his chin up so that he could grab his attention. Voldemort made an aborted move, instead running his fingers through Harry's hair and whispering softly. Harry let out a long laugh, shoving at Voldemort's side before he quickly grabbed the Dark Lord's hand and pressed it against Freia's neck.

Freia huffed noisily but made no move to murder Voldemort like Sirius _really_ wanted her to.

“They’re close,” Sirius said. He didn’t need confirmation.

“They are.”

The two Marauders looked up as Andromeda drifted over to them, her face as still as ever. Sirius didn’t think he’d ever seen her smile before, though he’d rarely seen her when they were all at Hogwarts Castle.

Harry was talking excitedly about something, his hands moving wildly. Voldemort seemed to be listening intently, his lips twitching every few moments as if he were stopping himself from smiling.

“Tom,” Harry whined. “It’s _funny_.”

“Tom?” Sirius asked again. It was the second time Harry had called Voldemort by that name, but the first time that Sirius had heard him addressed like that. “He really calls him that? And Voldemort lets him?”

“My brother lets Harry get away with a lot of things,” Andromeda said, dryly.

As if on cue, Harry shoved at Voldemort’s side, a warning look in his eye. Voldemort smirked back, shoving Harry. It was like a game between children. Harry suddenly tackled the Dark Lord, knocking him flat on his back. Voldemort snarled something and tugged Harry down until he was lying next to him and they just laid there, staring at the sky, as if there wasn’t a care in the world.

“How did this happen?” Sirius asked again.

Andromeda hummed. “They are very similar, Sirius Black. I know you don’t think so, but they are. Cruel and terrible my brother may be, but he holds great affection for Harry Wildfyre. And they are similar. They are both beautiful. They are both strong. They are both terrible. They are both great. They are both terrifying. They are _both_ survivors.”

Remus couldn’t help but nod.

“Tomorrow is the day,” Remus whispered. “Should we get them?”

“No,” Andromeda decided. Sirius and Remus turned to her and then looked back at where Harry and Voldemort were lying. They were in Freia’s shadow, heads turned towards one another, whispering quietly. “Let them have this. Today is another day for them. Tomorrow is war. War is hell.”

Tomorrow, then.

* * *

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

She was air.

She was nothingness.

Hogwarts Castle seemed far emptier than she remembered. It had been centuries since she had last stepped foot in the castle but, still, it seemed lost and broken with no on the throne. There should always be someone on the throne. She turned away from the Great Hall and moved up the stairs, moving past the stray servants without a single hesitation.

None stopped. None saw.

She was air.

She tugged the white cloak tighter around her body, keeping her hood in place as she stood on the landing and the moving staircase jerked in his path. Slowly, it curled in the direction that she wanted. With only a flex of her muscle, the magic that seemed embedded in the stone shuddered, bowing to her might. She rolled back her shoulders and closed her eyes, tasting it on her her tongue.

Such _old,_ ancient magic.

“Yes…” she breathed, panting through the magic as it coursed through her.

The back of her tongue tasted like blood but, the magic tasted like life. She had been devoid of life for so long. Slowly, her eyes rolled back into place.

She could feel the mirror, deep in the depths of the castle. Her mirror. She could taste her children in the air—Chaos-Bringer, Kingmaker, her moon, and...her Stranger had been there, long before. Not any longer. Her Stranger was long gone. Good, her Stranger, her Shadow, had no place there. Not yet. Not yet.

 _She_ had no place there either.

She continued up the steps, straight-backed and constantly moving, dragging her pale sun-bleached hands along the banisters, soaking it all in. If a servant crossed in front of her, they moved, cringing away from her though they did not see her. They only felt her, cool like ice, hot like fury, and they trembled from the force of her power. She used to be terrified by the power she held. Now, it was nothing to her.

Now, she was nothing but power sewn to bones.

Power had bleached her clean.

She did not pause when she reached the crumbling staircase that led up to the North Tower. She was not afraid of falling. She had never been afraid of falling. When she reached the trapdoor, she only reached out and imagined the door open and the ladder unrolling and there it was. Slowly, she climbed, she ascended, she never reached the top.

And then, she stood before the three women.

More children. Her children.

“ _Get_ out!” Cassandra Vlabatsky roared, staring at her with blind eyes, blind from the same power that she had once cringed from.

“‘Get out, get out’,” Celestina Warbeck mimicked in that singing, lilting voice of hers. She cowered against the corner, her hands over her face and then, she dropped them her face going slack as she stared at the woman standing before her. “Baba Yaga?”

Cassandra flinched and jerked, calling her eyes back. Cassandra stared up at her, eyes full of terror and she smiled, delighted.

"M-Marzanna? Marzanna," Cassandra said, pulling her ragged strings of hair from her face to peer up at her as if she couldn't understand what she was seeing. And then, Cassandra fell to her knees, crawling forward to kiss her bare feet, as white as her cloak. "Marzanna, Marzanna, Marzanna…"

“Get up,” she said. “There is work to be done.”

“We cannot leave. There are enchantments—” Cassandra began.

The woman did not laugh. She was devoid of laughter. There was only power bleached clean.

“There is work to be done,” she repeated. “The Wyrdfod is here. The Stranger approaches. There is work to be done.”

And Sybill Trelawney crept from behind the ragged curtains, staring at her with big, wide eyes. She smiled. Sybill was one of her children that had never seen her.

"Hello," she greeted.

Sybill lifted a trembling finger. “You...I know who you are.”

“You do?” she asked, softly, taking a step forward.

Sybill stopped breathing. “ _Pandora._ ”

* * *

**ON**

* * *

 

She stood before the large chateau, ignoring the rain that drenched her clothing, making the cotton mold itself to her body. She didn’t shiver. She wasn’t affected by the cold. Her long silver hair fell in wet ropes, sticking to the back of her neck. The coins in the pouch around her neck jangled with every step.

Fleur Delacour did not care about the rain. Not when she was about to make the world spill with blood. She took another trembling step forward, a sword bumping against her side with every movement.

It was a beautifully crafted sword. The silver glinted malevolently though there was no light. It was crafted to Fleur's exact specifications, though the smith had taken some liberties. The hilt was beautifully crafted, the pommel crafted in a roaring bird—similar to the birds that Veela became. It was a long blade and terribly sharp. Its scabbard was plain, rather suspiciously so but, Fleur didn't care.

She took a step forward, her eyes trained on the house. Then, another step. Slowly, she stomped her way through the mud, her eyes trained on the door. She had never felt so unafraid. Fleur had been afraid nearly her entire life. Her mother had always told her to be afraid. Her father had always told her to be afraid. Her grandmother and her entire line before her.

Be afraid, they said in life.

 _Be afraid_ , they said in death.

Her visions told her to fear for the future.

Fleur used to be afraid all of the time. Now, she only felt terribly cold and determined.

Her sister was inside. Her sister, the girl she had raised, was inside and engaged in a war that she could not fight alone. Fleur had left her little sister alone for too long. Her little sister who was hardened by scars. Her little sister who needed a sword.

The door opened before she even needed to knock.

Fleur stared.

Gabrielle stared back. Gabrielle didn't look like Fleur. Fleur looked beautiful as all other Veelas, though a little water-logged. Gabrielle was pale as the moon, with ash-blonde hair and chalky skin and pale, pale eyes. Her jaw was sharp and pointed as if she were on the precipice of transforming at every moment. And still, Fleur didn't think she'd ever been more beautiful.

“Fleur, you shouldn’t be here,” Gabrielle said.

Fleur slowly pulled the sword from its sheath. Gabrielle’s eyes widened as she looked at the beautiful weapon, glittering dangerously.

“Neither should you,” Fleur said softly.

Gabrielle opened the door wider. Fleur gasped.

Lining the steps were men and women. There was at least three dozen on the first flight and there were more, going up either set of stairs that went from the first landing. They all stared at the two with amber eyes, glowing menacingly. Each was dressed in rags, practically slathering as they stared at the two Veela women. Standing at the very bottom was Fenrir and the woman that Fleur had seen beating her sister half to death in her visions.

Gabrielle slowly stepped in front of her sister, her eyes trained on her husband.

“No, Fleur. You _really_ shouldn’t be here.”

* * *

**THE**

* * *

 

Harry looked at himself in the mirror, swallowing hard as Tonks adjusted his robes. The dragon scale and chainmail glowed the red but, if he shifted just so, they became black. Tonks stood up behind him and gently weaved his coronet into his hair. She lifted her wand, sticking it to his head with magic, her eyes narrowed as she looked at him.

“You look beautiful,” Tonks whispered, in awe.

He glanced at her reflection. She looked nothing like herself and everything like herself at the same time. Her hair was still short but, the pink was gone, leaving the soft brown that she only let him see when she couldn’t help it. Her black robes were fitted to every dip in her body, every curve. Her two swords—one of glinting silver and the other red—were hidden beneath her crimson cloak.

Tonks had never been in awe of him but as she looked at him now, she looked stricken.

“I’m not supposed to look beautiful,” Harry warned her.

Tonks’ eyes narrowed. “Beauty is terror. You are _terrifying_ ,” she insisted. She took a step back, turning him towards her. He looked up at her, confused, and Tonks’ eyes softened. “There is so much I want to tell you.”

“Like what?” Harry asked.

Tonks gave a tired laugh. “There’s not enough time in the world, Harry Wildfyre. Just...I know you love him. You’re extraordinary. Don’t let what he wants change you. He’s very handsome, Harry, I know. But, he is _not_ the sun. You are.”

Tonks pulled away from him, leaving Harry staring dumbstruck.

“Tonks…” Harry breathed, taking a step towards.

“Harry. There are things in this world that you will learn. Things that you will learn about me. And you may hate me, eventually, but know that everything I ever do is in your name,” Tonks said and then she held out her hand. “It’s time to go.”

Harry grabbed her hand before he even thought about it. Slowly, Tonks led him out of the room. Harry swallowed as he stared at the men and women lining the walls of the hall, all the way towards the stairs. As far as Harry could see, they waited, stone-faced, all standing with pikes in their hands. Harry looked at Tonks and carefully she pulled her hands away from him.

“Your Grace,” she said, her voice stiff.

Slowly, Harry turned to face forward and then it began. Solemnly, they all thumped their pikes in time, a thunderous roar of respect that echoed in Harry's mind. Harry thought that he'd remember that moment for all his life.

He walked forward, stone-faced, never picking up pace as he thundered down the hall. As he made his way down the stairs, the stone-faced lines continued, never pausing in their salute to him. Harry walked down the steps, Tonks respectfully a few steps behind him. Harry swept down the stairs, and through the Entrance Hall where most of his Council waited by the doors, draped in battle robes emblazoned with the Phoenix.

“Your Grace,” McGonagall said, falling into a low curtsey.

Kingsley, Ginevra, and Bill followed her example. Harry nodded and continued forward as they fell in line behind him. The doors swung open and Harry raised his eyes as he met with a wall of roars. Harry lifted his chin as he looked at them all, draped in iron and steel, ready to battle to the death in his name. Harry looked at the Death Eaters that led the pack, draped in black and bone-white masks. Harry took a step forward and opened his mouth, intending to speak.

The words wouldn’t emerge.

Slowly, frantically, he looked towards Ron who waited amongst his brothers. Ron nodded at him in understanding.

"GET READY!" Ron roared from the side. "WE LEAVE IN TWO HOURS!"

The crowd dispersed, running to do as they were told. Harry felt his breath return as all of their eyes turned off him and they went to ready themselves, probably to mount their horses and to get into formation. The Portkeys all waited in a line, thousands of them, by the cliffside where they were leaving from.

“Y-your parents would be so proud of you.”

Harry looked up, startled by Sirius’ sudden appearance. He was standing next to Remus, a small smile on their faces as they looked at Harry.

“Thank you,” Harry murmured. He frowned when two Death Eaters approached. They dragged their wands across their faces, revealing their faces.

Lucius and Snape.

“My Lord is waiting for you. He needs to speak with you,” Lucius said, firmly.

Harry frowned. “He hasn’t _left_ yet?” he demanded.

"You know he won't until he speaks with you," Snape said, his lips curling in disgust. Slowly, he turned to look at Remus and Sirius. "Black."

“Snivellus,” Sirius hissed. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re one of the Death Eaters here. You so easily switch sides. It’s like you have no sense of loyalty.”

Harry groaned. A pissing contest. Great.

"I'd be very careful about the words I'd choose if I were you. After all, I'm the one with the wand and you're...rather unnecessary, aren't you?" Snape said, turning up his rather large nose. Remus ground his teeth as he looked at the two but held his tongue.

“I’m the one that knew how to get into Rowena’s haven, arsehole. You’re just another body,” Sirius spat.

Snape sneered. “Are we sure you know what you’re talking about? Azkaban might have addled your brain. How was your extended vacation?”

“I should—” Sirius barked, lunging forward. Suddenly, the two men were yanked apart by an invisible force. Harry took a step back as the Dark Lord appeared, draped in battle robes.

“Enough,” Tom hissed. “Severus, leave. Black, watch yourself.”

“F-fuck you!” Sirius barked.

Tom’s eyes narrowed but Harry reached forward, lacing his fingers with Tom’s. Tom looked down at him, surprised. Harry ignored the strange look on Sirius’ face.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Harry whispered. “I have...I have to speak with you. It’s important.”

Tom nodded. “What I have to say is important, _Melui-âr,_ ” he said, gently.

Harry took a step back, drawing Tom with him when Barty appeared at Tom’s side and McGonagall at Harry’s.

“My Lord...there’s a problem with the Portkeys. We aren’t sure if it’s correct,” Barty said, apologetically. Harry sighed, shaking his head and he looked over at McGonagall.

“What is it, Madame?” Harry murmured.

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “There’s a discussion to be had.”

Harry nodded and he glanced over at Tom, squeezing his hand tight. Tom squeezed back.

“Don’t leave...not until we talk. Okay?” Harry murmured.

“You know I won’t,” Tom said, softly.

Harry swallowed and tore his hand away. He looked over at Madame McGonagall and nodded.

“Let’s talk,” he said. They melted away further, ignoring the curious stares. In the midst of all the chaos, it almost felt like they had some sort of privacy though Harry knew there was nothing of the sort in war. “What is it?”

“Your Fire, Harry,” McGonagall began. “You shouldn’t use it unless you absolutely _know_ you can control it. You’ve been having trouble, haven’t you?”

Harry’s eyes widened. He thought about all the times that his rage had gotten the better of him recently. The times when his frustration would feed the flames and they would nearly spin out of control. Against Remus, Regulus, and Sirius.

“How...how do you know that?” Harry murmured.

McGonagall’s lips twitched into a small smile.

“Harry Wildfyre. The Boy Who Lived,” McGonagall said, softly. She took a step forward, and her eyes were softer than Harry had ever seen them. He smiled at her, weakly. “The Fairest. The Wyrdfod. So many titles for one so young.”

“Half of them undeserved,” Harry joked nervously and McGonagall shook her head.

“None of them are undeserved, Harry. You are extraordinary,” McGonagall insisted and when Harry opened his mouth to protest, McGonagall pressed her hand to his cheek. “ _I_ know who you are, Harry. I was there for your birth. You are not just the Fire in your skin. You are not just a king. You are important. Necessary."

“I-I…” Harry stammered, thrown by how sudden McGonagall was speaking.

"You are not destruction. Think about this Harry: what is the largest source of flames?" she whispered. And then she cupped his cheeks and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, pulling back to stare into his eyes. "You look so much like your mother."

And then she pulled away, going to mount her horse. Harry trembled.

He was ready.

* * *

**WALL**

* * *

 

Hermione felt numb as the ladies dressed her. Madame Malkin supervised as the servants laced her up, using their fingers. The dressmaker had claimed that the robes were too fragile for magic. She was worried about everything fraying. Hermione closed her eyes as Luna stepped in front of her, taking her by her hands.

“Are you sure you don’t want one of my girls doing your hair, my Lady...I mean, your Highness?” Madame Malkin asked, a jovial tilt to her voice. Hermione felt tears well in her eyes at her new title.

“No...Luna always does it,” Hermione whispered.

Carefully, she opened her eyes and lifted her skirts. She padded across the room, barefoot, her skirts trailing after her. Luna sat her in front of a massive vanity and stood behind her, pulling her wet hair out of the long braid that it had been in. Being braided wet always kept most of Hermione's natural frizz at bay. She waited for Luna to apply Sleakeazy to her hair but instead, Luna pulled it back and began to apply a Warming Charm, blasting hot air over it. Hermione's eyes widened as she saw her naturally frizzy hair bush out around her face.

“What are you doing?” Madame Malkin squawked.

Luna’s eyes narrowed. “Today, my Lady, will look like herself. Not what you want her to,” Luna snarled. Her eyes softened when she looked at Hermione. “Simple cosmetics, Hermione. And a braid.”

As she spoke, she began to braid Hermione’s hair. It was a five-strand braid, leaving soft curly tendrils to frame Hermione’s face. Hermione swallowed. She looked like herself. She looked like Hermione Granger of the Republic. She wondered what Fleur would think if she could see her now.

“Luna, I don’t want this,” Hermione whispered, just low enough for the two of them to hear.

Luna paused in her braiding. “Hermione, everything will be okay.”

“How do you know? I feel so alone,” Hermione admitted.

Barty was missing. Blaise had never been on her side. Luna could be taken from her at any moment. Lady Andromeda hadn’t bothered to come, and Lord Voldemort didn’t seem to give a damn about anything. She hadn’t seen Daphne since arriving at Rowena’s haven except in passing. It terrified Hermione. Everything terrified her.

Luna shook her head. “No. You are _never_ alone. You will never be alone. I am always here for you,” Luna insisted firmly.

Even as she said it, Hermione’s heart broke in half and for the first time since she had arrived in Albion, tears spilled from her eyes and she let out a terrible sob. Everyone in the room stopped, and suddenly, Hermione couldn’t stop crying. Her shoulders trembled with the force of her gut-wrenching sobs that came out more like shrieks. She fought to breathe through her tears but, she found her breath strangled in her throat. Luna hugged her from behind, burying her face in Hermione’s neck.

“Don’t cry. Don’t. I’m here. Wyrdfod is coming,” Luna whispered against the skin of her neck.

Hermione cried harder.

“It’s over...it’s over…” Hermione cried, snot dribbling from her red nose. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

“It’s never over. You will survive this, Hermione Granger. You are _strong_ ,” Luna insisted.

“Today...I will be Hermione Slytherin,” Hermione spat in rage and she screamed a terrible scream that shredded at her throat. The glass in the room trembled with the power of her raging magic. Her wand vibrated against her side.

Luna’s eyes hardened. “ _Never._ ”

“How can you know?” Hermione whispered.

“Because. The Wyrdfod _is_ coming, Hermione. And you will be saved. And you will save yourself. Now, get _up_. Do not cry,” Luna growled.

And Hermione wiped away her tears, slowly looking up. Luna nodded and continued to braid her hair.

Madame Malkin and her assistants didn't seem to know what to make of everything. Madame Malkin stepped forward to inquire about Hermione's health when there was a knock on the door. Narcissa didn't wait to be invited in, only stepping inside.

Once more, Hermione was reminded of how beautiful her future mother-in-law was.

Narcissa Slytherin was powerful in her navy robes. Her face was painted beautiful and her hair was braided in long ropes that were intertwined. Warrior’s braids. She held a box in her hands.

“My Lady,” Luna greeted and the other ladies echoed her, dipping into short curtseys. Hermione barely looked up.

“Lady Narcissa,” she whispered.

Narcissa took a step forward, her eyes glinting maliciously. “You look...pretty, Hermione. A sweet little foreign girl from the Republic,” Narcissa murmured. Hermione whispered her thanks. “I have a gift. From your husband.”

Narcissa removed the top and Hermione was stricken.

She hadn’t seen them in such a long time. Fleur had put them on her feet the day that Hermione had gone to the ball. When Hermione had run away, she had tripped in them, shattering one against her foot. The shards had cut deep, leaving scars on her feet. The other one had stayed on but blood had pooled in the bottom from the sores that they had left on her feet.

Draco had kept them.

Her glass slippers, covered in her blood.

* * *

**WHO**

* * *

 

Bellatrix knew the tomb when she finally reached it after days of walking.

Her silver robes, gifted to her by the Sea Warlock, were in rags. Her feet ached and bled. But, she knew. She could feel the magic thrumming in her blood.

It wasn’t a tomb.

Bellatrix hadn’t really expected it to be. The deathless was hidden separate from the body. The death was inside a needle, which was in an egg, which was in a duck, which was in a hare, which was in a chest of gold, buried beneath the green oak tree.

Bellatrix stared at the only oak tree in miles. She pressed her hand to the bark and felt Pandora, though she was not there. Pandora seemed to consume so many of her thoughts, lately. As much as Tom did. Bellatrix had never been close to Pandora like Tom was. But, Bellatrix had never been jealous of Pandora. Pandora’s interest in them had always been a strange, clinical type of interest. As if she couldn’t quite feel the same affection that they had for her. She wasn’t capable.

Eternity did that.

The tree felt so alive under her touch. There was no wind but, Bellatrix could feel the oak tree swell and then exhale as if it were breathing. Bellatrix pulled her driftwood wand, suddenly missing her own wand down to her core.

“ _Bombarda_ ,” she cast at the base of the tree.

The ground cracked and exploded around her, showering her in dirt and debris but, Bellatrix brushed it away, not even bothering to clean herself. Immediately, she fell to the ground, tossing her wand aside and began to dig through the loose dirt. She clawed forth and barely winced when her nails cracked against loose rocks. When she pulled back to inspect her hands, her nails were broken and caked with dirt and blood.

“Enough. So close. We are so close,” Bellatrix hissed and she knew she was.She could feel it beneath her. Her hand struck something hard and she brushed her hands over the surface, clearing it of dirt. Bellatrix's eyes lit up as she spotted gold. She had to lean nearly all of her body into the hole to grab a firm hold of the golden box but she did, pulling it free and setting aside her. The entire world seemed to go still and quiet. None of the natural sounds of nature could be heard as if they cowered before what was inside the box.

Bellatrix sifted through the dirt to find her driftwood wand and she rapped it against the top of the golden chest. Bellatrix stowed her wand away in her side and pulled her knife free from her small burlap sack. She had no more Galleons or any coin at all but, she still had her knife. Slowly, she opened the golden chest.

The hare jumped free, attempting to scurry away but, Bellatrix had no patience. She snatched it by its ears and slit its belly from skull down. The hare split open and a blood-slicked duck came forth, quacking loudly. It tried to waddle away and this time, Bellatrix had to throw herself forward to catch it. It nearly escaped from her hands, it was so wet with blood and entrails but Bellatrix simply slammed her wet knife into its back and squeezed until an egg slid out with a wet plop.

Bellatrix grabbed the egg in her hands and crushed it between her palms, the shell digging marks into her filthy, cut palms. The yolk fell into the dirt and grass and Bellatrix dragged her fingers through the yellow mess, searching and searching until she let out a quiet hiss.

Her finger twinged with the pain from the needle’s brick but carefully she brought the silver needle, dripping with yolk to eye level. She inspected it, curiously.

This was it. Inside the needle was a death. She wondered if there was a spell. Or any particular words she needed whisper. She wondered if the needle itself was the wand until she thought on something Pandora had said once to her.

_The simplest answer is usually the answer._

Bellatrix took the needle in two hands and cracked it in half.

There was a long moment of silence and the oak lurched and let out a cracking sound, the leaves falling around her, sticking to her hair and falling in her lap. Bellatrix looked up and watched as the oak tree died around her, turning withered and black. Bellatrix dropped the broken needle and held out her hands in offering.

The wand was longer than her old wand. It also felt ancient. As ancient as Pandora felt whenever Bellatrix had been around her. The wand was unique in that every few inches, it was covered in carvings that resembled a cluster of elderberries. Bellatrix wrapped her fingers around the wand and gasped when felt the magic rush over her.

She felt her skin knit together, blood washed away by magic. The dirt that had been caked on her skin evaporated and her skin felt young and tight again. Bellatrix gasped as the magic embraced her somewhat but, she knew not fully. Not until she was truly Deathless. Bellatrix shuddered, brushing the wand against her cheek.

She thought about what Tom would say if he saw her, holding the Deathless’ wand.

Her Tom. The Tom she knew when they had been young. The Tom that had slaughtered men and women and children without thinking. She didn’t think he’d ever been more beautiful than when he was covered in blood, his face smeared with it.

Bellatrix would find her Tom. She would kill this Tom and make him ugly like her. Twist him inside. She would.

“You will be naked…” she promised. “And bloodied...and clean...and mine.”

And she thrust the Elder Wand into the air, releasing her rage.

Her rage looked like lightning.

* * *

**IS**

* * *

 

“Your Grace, you called for me.”

Draco slowly turned, clad in white and green robes, looking to the young woman that waited in the doorway. His breath was taken away once again as he looked at her nubile body. She was wearing his colors. The Slytherin colors, but softer. Her dove grey dress was really a few pieces of cloth tied together, exposing her flat belly, the soft flesh at her sides, crossing over her plump breasts and tying around her neck. Draco felt his cock twitch.

“I did,” Draco murmured as he stalked forward.

Daphne Greengrass’ lips curled into a slow smile. He was so close, they could practically breathe the same air.

“On your wedding day, your Grace?” Daphne whispered. “How tawdry.”

“If I could have you by my side, I would,” Draco said, firmly. He lifted his hand, dragging his fingertips down her cheek. Daphne leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. “You see it, don’t you?”

“See what, Draco?” Daphne murmured.

Draco groaned at the sound of his name. “You belong to me.”

Daphne whimpered as Draco slipped his hand behind her back, pulling her tight against his body. She lifted trembling hands up to his face, cupping his jaw and swallowing. She bit her lower lip and looked away.

“But...you aren’t mine,” she whispered.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. Fiercely, he said, “I’m always  yours, Daphne.”

He pressed his lips all along her face, fluttering kisses to her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her eyelids, and then her mouth. He pecked her mouth in succession, once, twice, thrice, and then pulled back. Daphne’s eyes were still closed but a soft smile stretched across her wide, pretty face. Slowly, she opened her eyes to look at him.

“You’re not. You’re getting married,” Daphne whispered. “I want you to be _mine_.”

Draco nodded. “I know. But, I have to. The people love her and we’re on the brink of _war_ ,” Draco whispered.

Daphne let tears well in her eyes as she looked up at him. She pressed a smirk onto her face as if to disguise her sadness but, she wasn't quite able to.

“I wish that you could be mine,” Daphne murmured.

And Draco decided. He slowly pulled his green scarf away, throwing it to the side. Daphne’s eyes widened and she scrambled at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing kisses to his neck. Draco stripped her bare, revealing skin, dragging his fingers down her bare skin, worshipping wherever he touched. Daphne gasped at the feeling.

She cried out when he entered her, fucking her up against the wall. She slammed her hand back against the wall as if to brace herself while he fucked up inside of her, whispering his adoration into the crook of her neck, in the hollow beneath her ear. And even as she stared at the door, chanting _yes, yes, yes_.

He came inside her with the words, “I love you,” on his lips.

They stared at one another for a long moment, with him still inside her. Daphne laced her fingers through his short blonde hair and she smiled.

“I love you too,” she whispered. She pressed her mouth to his, licking into his mouth, tasting him, pressing her nails into the back of his neck.

For the first time, Draco noticed that she tasted like salt and seaweed. He pulled back and didn’t smile. He staggered back, staring at her as she slid down the wall, catching her footing. He looked at her and saw everything he wanted and couldn’t have, would never have.

“Stay with me. Stay at Hogwarts with me,” Draco begged.

Daphne shook her head as she began to tie her dress back into place, running her fingers through her loose hair. “I can’t. I won’t be your mistress. I won’t be pregnant with your bastard. I wouldn’t do that to a child.”

“I would claim him,” Draco begged.

“And dishonor your wife? Humiliate my friend? Draco…” Daphne whispered. She smiled, softly. “Be happy that we had _this_.”

Draco nodded, his eyes darting around the room as he lost himself in his swirling thoughts. Daphne glanced in the mirror, looking at herself. She licked the saltwater from her lips and rolled back her shoulders, tugging at her muscles and cracking her bones.

“Bed your wife tonight.  I will find you in the morning before we leave,” Daphne promised.

Draco nodded, lost.

Daphne turned on her heel and left the room, without a backward glance. As soon as she left the room, her smile dropped in favor of a look of stone. She stalked down the hall, blowing past servants, feeling Draco Slytherin's seed drip down the inside of her thighs. Daphne didn't stop even as she trotted down the steps, and stormed outside of the castle, past the servants still carrying flowers into the Throne Hall. She blew past the Lords and Ladies milling about, ready for the event to begin.

Only when she was outside, did she slow, and only to pull apart the flaps to her family's tent.

Daphne entered the tent, her lips pulled into a gentle smile. She kept her eyes trained on her ward-brother and their grandmother. Augusta stared at her, her eyes hard as Daphne walked into the empty tent, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Daphne,” Augusta said in greeting.

Daphne Greengrass’ lips curled back into a terribly wicked grimace. “It is done,” she hissed.

Augusta grinned.

“What is dead may never die,” she said, reciting the Longbottom motto.

Daphne nodded and held out her hand. Neville took it immediately, allowing his ward-sister to pull him to his feet. Immediately, they walked away from their grandmother, arm in arm, waving their wands as they sealed the boxes, whispering the family charms that would settle everything for them in its proper place.

“How do you know it took?” Neville asked, softly.

Daphne’s grim expression brightened into something like wickedness. She thought back to her salt of kiss, and the way he watched her, so utterly, foolishly, in love. He ought to know; his mother should’ve told him.

Love was for children.

“Because I can feel him now. Every breath he takes...every move he wakes...every step he takes...I’ll _know_. And I will feel his heart weakening...his magic cracking, and when he falls, as he should, I will know,” Daphne rasped.

Neville’s gaze hardened. “And Narcissa Slytherin will know what it is to lose _everything_.”

* * *

**FAIREST**

* * *

 

Gabrielle kept her back to Fleur. She only had eyes for Fenrir, and she cursed the Dtrwies for allowing Fleur to come. It was raining so hard that she should’ve drowned outside. The Dtrwies must have given her a vision on the wheel and she had come because she thought had to. But, Gabrielle was not the same girl that Fleur remembered. She was scarred, and scars were harder to break than skin.

“What...what is this?” Fleur whispered into her ear.

“Ah, my sister-in-law. Welcome,” Fenrir growled, his lips curled back into a yellow grin. He looked at Gabrielle again, his eyes flashing. “What a...surprise.”

Gabrielle’s eyes narrowed. “I tried to kill him. This morning. In our bed. He summoned his pack,” Gabrielle said, sharply. She looked at them all. Some looked more human than others. The others were slathering, thirsting for a taste of her blood.

“You betrayed me, Gabrielle. I asked _one_ thing of you—”

“You hunt creatures, Fenrir. You hunt _women_ ,” Gabrielle hissed, her nostrils flared with fury. “You hunt them and skin them and mount them on your wall like animals. Was I next?”

"Not until now," Fenrir allowed. He took a step forward, slowly shrugging off that fine silk over-robe that Gabrielle had noticed the first time that she had seen him. With every layer he stripped off, the more she could see the animal in his eyes.

She hoped he could see the animal in her eyes too.

“You’ll look pretty on my wall,” Fenrir said, softly, taunting and yet, she could read his eyes. She could see that this was eat or be eaten, and he would consume her alive though it would hurt him anyway.

“I prefer pelts,” Gabrielle spat.

Fleur grabbed onto her shoulder and Gabrielle tried to shrug her off but Fleur was insistent as her hand trailed down Gabrielle’s arm to her wrist. She brought Gabrielle’s hand back and slowly wrapped it around something. Gabrielle didn’t have to look to recognize it as a sword. Slowly, Gabrielle pulled the sword forward.

“Gabrielle…” Fleur breathed. “Kill. Him.”

Gabrielle stared at the blade as she lifted it in front of her. She knew it wasn't iron or steel and from the look on Deyanira and Fenrir's faces, they knew it too.

“Gabrielle…” Fenrir warned.

Gabrielle screamed for the first time since she had been scarred. It was a deafening sound that drowned out everything else, even the pounding of her own blood. She screamed for the girl that she used to be, for the woman that she was about to become, for the things she was about to do. She screamed for lost love and never-ending rage. She screamed for Fenrir, her poor dead love.

“Gabrielle, the gods wouldn’t—” Fenrir began.

“Your gods are dead, my love. Who will save you now?” Gabrielle whispered, taking a step forward. One of the wolves growled, launching themselves forward before Deyanira or Fenrir could stop him.

Gabrielle spun on her heel, roaring as she brought her sword down across his chest. The wolf screamed, dying before he ever hit the ground. Gabrielle slammed him down onto his back and twisted, watching his skin hiss and spit around the silver blade. She pulled it free and wiped it against her trousers, smearing them with blood.

“Fenrir, my love, I challenge you,” she said, softly. She looked from Deyanira to Fenrir, stepping over the wolf’s broken corpse. “A girl, Gabrielle Delacour- _Greyback_ challenges the Alpha of Laug.”

Fenrir froze. “To what?”

“To the death,” Gabrielle whispered.

Fenrir stood up straight and he slowly pulled his wand from his pocket. Gabrielle pulled her own and they stared at one another for a long moment.

And Gabrielle had never cast the spell. She had never thought to, never had a reason to. She had never hated so much in her life, and she had never loved. But, when the words came off her tongue, there had never been an easier spell.

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ”

Fenrir leaped out of the way and the Killing Curse connected with a stray wolf who fell dead as soon as the light touched him. Fenrir launched himself forward, whipping his wand. Gabrielle spun out of the way, dodging just as the purple jet sliced against her cheek. Gabrielle fully faced Fenrir just as he Conjured a sword and brought it down over her head. Gabrielle raised her sword, blocking the blow and she kicked out, catching him in the belly with all her strength.

Fenrir staggered back, eyes wide with surprise.

Gabrielle took a step back, steadying herself. Slowly, she lifted her chin.

The fight began. It was a battle between two predators, neither one willing to give up their claim to blood. A punch was evaded just as quickly as a spell. The room lit up with the ghostly cast of curses. A white-blue curse from Gabrielle, meant to maim. A purple jet of magic from Fenrir meant to obliterate. Steel clashed against silver, drawing sparks. Neither one landed a physical hit on the other. Not until Gabrielle whipped her wand sharply and Disarmed Fenrir with a well-placed _Expelliarmus_.

Fenrir’s suddenly free hand snapped out, catching Gabrielle across the face.

Gabrielle didn’t flinch from the hit though Fenrir looked surprised. He stared at his hand as if it had betrayed him but, Gabrielle thought no such thing. Instead, she stared at her husband with a terribly triumphant look, smiling a mouth of blood. In the dim lighting, she looked stark white, the bloody ruin of her mouth the only flash of color.

“I am Gabrielle Delacour-Greyback, wife of Fenrir Greyback, daughter of Apolline and Louis Delacour, and I say _not_ today,” Gabrielle roared in his face and she swung her sword over her heard, screaming with a terror that she did know belonged to her.

Fenrir reached out, grabbing and he gasped when he remembered that it was silver. He jerked his hand to his chest and Gabrielle pushed the pain as she smelled his burning flesh. Instead, she whipped her wand over and over again, thinking of the spell that her mother had whispered once when they were children, the same spell that Fleur whispered when she made that silver thread.

“ _Stříbrná mince,”_ Gabrielle snarled, and she watched as the silver thread shot from her wand, wrapping around Fenrir’s neck like a leash.

“I loved you. More than anyone,” Fenrir whispered, his voice cracking.

Gabrielle lifted her chin. “And yet, you betrayed me,” she decided as she rapped the silver sword across the ground. The werewolves were all still, their eyes trained on the sword that meant death. “When Deyanira began training me, she told me there was no justice in the world. Not unless we make it. You told me that I must lose everything to gain something. I have lost.”

“Gabrielle,” Fenrir pleaded.

“Thank you for all your many lessons, Fenrir Greyback. I will never forget them,” Gabrielle rasped. “Last words?”

“The Stranger, Death was right. I should not have loved you,” Fenrir whispered. “I should have looked her in her eyes and said ‘not today’.”

Gabrielle did not pretend to know what that meant. Instead, she said, “Today has come.”

She took a step forward, rapping the silver sword against the marble floors again. Her husband was on his knees before her, and she remembered, suddenly, the first time they had met. He had called her ‘miss’ and he had looked at her with the same intrigue that she had looked at him with. Gabrielle took a step forward and cupped his jaw with one hand. He looked up at her, pleading.

She leaned down and pressed her lips to his. She didn’t close her eyes. Neither did he.

He lunged.

She brought her sword down.

He coughed blood onto her lips.

Gabrielle pulled back, licking her lips, tasting his blood on her tongue, remembering the way he tasted. Her silver sword burned his flesh and he roared as she ripped it out of his back and then stabbed down again. And again. She wrenched it out, staggering back and watched as the wounds on his back festered and his face turned wane. His lips curled into a ferocious snarl, and for the time, Gabrielle saw the wolf.

Fenrir lunged at her again, roaring through the pain, and Gabrielle swung her sword so hard, it sliced across his throat, through his vocal chords, nearly through his neck. Fenrir fell to his knees, clutching at the wound. Gabrielle stared at him, impassively.

“Ga—”

“I loved you. But, I promised...I would never forgive you,” Gabrielle said and then she sheathed her sword, looking up at the wolves that all stared down at her, teeth bared and prepared to lunge. She stepped over her husband’s broken body. “Who _dares?_ Who would _dare_ fight me? The Widow who slew the great Wolf of Laug!"

Spittle flew from her mouth, her words echoing in the Entrance Hall.

“You think you can _kill_ me? Me who has no name? You can’t kill me!” she snarled. Gabrielle’s nostrils flared and she looked directly at Deyanira Argentum.

Deyanira did not cower. Instead, she broke away from the pack. Gabrielle grabbed her sword, ready to slay them all.

And then, Deyanira sunk to her knees and offered her neck.

“A girl is Alpha,” Deyanira whispered.

Just like that, the other wolves all sunk to their knees where they stood, bending back their heads to show their necks. Gabrielle took a step back, her eyes wide as they began to chant the title, first in whispers, then in shouts.

“Alpha. Alpha. Alpha. ALPHA!”

Deyanira stared. “Alpha, Fenrir Greyback called the Republic. They are almost here. I can hear them. Alpha must run. Run, Alpha, and find the Wyrdfod. Find the Wyrdfod.”

Gabrielle shook her head.

“There are no gods. And there is no Wyrdfod,” she snarled.

“You are wrong. The Wyrdfod is here, and the gods are even more so. You are marked,” Deyanira whispered.

Gabrielle jumped when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist. She looked up at Fleur’s face, expecting to see terror. Instead, Fleur looked at her with a hard expression, set grim in her pretty face. She tugged on her arm.

“We must go. There is the Wyrdfod. I have seen him. But, it doesn’t matter. Right now, we must run. We have to _run,”_ Fleur whispered.

Gabrielle turned back to look at her _pack._

“Run, Alpha. We will come to you when you call but, for now, _run._ ”

So, Gabrielle and Fleur ran.

* * *

**OF**

* * *

 

“You look lovely, Narcissa.”

Narcissa looked up, sharply from his mirror. Daphne Greengrass lurked in the doorway. Narcissa’s lips curled into a smile as she observed the girl.

All of her masks were gone. There was no gentile smile or quiet grace. No charming smirks or girlish laughter. There was only a cold woman with sea storms for eyes and salt on her tongue. Daphne danced into the room and Narcissa ran her eyes over her, taking in the exposed skin and the way her hair fell down her back. It appeared wet, so shiny and slick with gels and pomades. Daphne didn’t stand, only watching.

“‘Lady Narcissa’ will do...little fish,” Narcissa murmured.

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “You remember.”

“Of course, I remember. You’ve heeded my advice?” Narcissa asked.

“‘Do not cry, little fish. Tears are blood, ill-spilled’,” Daphne repeated. She tilted her head, observing Narcissa carefully. “I have not cried in a long, long time.”

“Good. Only the weak cry,” Narcissa decided.

"I made your son cry today. On his wedding day," Daphne said as if she were speaking on the weather. She began to pace, a finger pressed to her lips. Narcissa never looked away. "He cried for all the things he could never have, all the things he could never be. Do you cry about those things?"

“I do not cry. I have not cried in decades,” Narcissa said, coldly.

Daphne paused, slowly turning to look at Narcissa. "The last time I cried, you murdered my family in front of me. I would make you cry, Narcissa Slytherin. I would make you do many things if I could."

“If you could,” Narcissa allowed. “But, you can’t.”

“Not yet,” Daphne retorted nearly immediately. She paused, reigning herself in as she looked over at her opponent. She began to pace again. “I have come to you with words of warning.”

“Warning?” Narcissa said, her lips pulling into a chilly smile.

Daphne slowly approached Narcissa and then lowered her face until she was level with Narcissa. They were barely inches apart, never looking away from another. Narcissa stared into those sea eyes and saw the fury of the oceans and the type of hatred that took years to breed and foster. Narcissa felt pride.

 _She_ had put that there.

“If you... _ever_ hurt Hermione Granger…” Daphne trailed off, shaking her head, her lips tilted into a strange little smile. “No. Your fate will always remain the same.”

Narcissa’s eyes brightened. “How so?”

And Daphne’s gaze sharpened and she took a step closer, looking deep into Narcissa’s pinprick blue eyes. “I will drown you.”

* * *

**THEM**

* * *

 

It was time.

Harry looked around, searching for the man that he needed to find. He darted between centaurs and Veelas and banshees and witches and wizards and Muggles alike, searching for the Dark Lord. He sighed, nodding to everyone that murmured ‘Wyrdfod’ or ‘your Grace’ at him, though he paid them little mind.

“Your Grace! Your Portkey is leaving at—” Percy called.

“Not now, Percy!” Harry shouted, ducking around the man and then he was caught and spun, nearly tripping. Harry gasped as he looked up at the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord grabbed him by his wrists and dragged him close to the cliff, where there were few but for Harry’s Council’s horses and Hagrid, attempting to wrangle Freia and prepare her for transport. “Tom…”

“We have to talk. You wanted to talk and I have to leave. _Soon_. And you need to talk to your troops and make sure that Freia can get to Rowena's haven," Tom murmured, running his hands over Harry's jaw as if checking to make sure he was okay though they hadn't even yet engaged in battle. "I enchanted Freia's Portkey myself but, I'm not...well, I wouldn't admit this if it weren't important, but I'm not sure about the limits of the Charm. If we had more time—"

“No, no, that’s not what I want to talk about,” Harry murmured.

Tom frowned. “Then, what?”

Harry swallowed all of his fear and trepidation and looked at Tom with wide eyes, taking a deep breath. Tom frowned down at him, his red eyes narrowed in confusion and irritation.

“Okay, here it is,” Harry whispered, pressing his hands to Tom’s chest. “It’s time to make your choice.”

Tom snorted. “I made my choice long ago.”

“No, no,” Harry insisted as he reached up, cradling Tom’s jaw. He drew him closer until they were breathing the same air, so entwined that if anyone happened upon them, they would hardly be able to tell where Harry ended and Tom began. “You could’ve gotten out of this Vow. You’re a cunning snake, Tom Marvolo. Now...your choice. It’s simple. Them or me.”

Tom stopped breathing. “Harry.”

“I know…I know that they’re your _blood_ but, Tom, I _love_ you,” Harry begged, his voice cracking. He looked up into Tom’s warbright eyes and swallowed. “Don’t leave me. _Please_ don’t leave me. I want you to love me.”

Tom took a deep breath and closed his eyes as if centering himself. He opened his eyes again and Harry felt his heart break.

“Self-sacrifice makes for a good ruler. I do not know this in practice but…” Tom drawled. He cleared his throat and he took a step back. He looked anywhere but into Harry’s eyes. “This is happening. You have your armies. A dragon. Respect. A crown. Everything you’ve ever wanted. Are you afraid?”

Harry hesitated. “No,” he whispered.

“You should be. You’re in the great game now and the great game’s terrifying,” Tom warned.

Harry swallowed hard.

“Do you know what frightens me?”

“No.”

“The fact that I love you and it means nothing to you,” Harry whispered, harshly, and he took a step back. He wiped furiously at his eyes with the back of his hands and when he looked up again, and he was like steel. Fire and grace.

A king, through and through.

“What I feel for you will pale in comparison to what the world will. You will go today and they will all see you for what you are,” Tom swore.

Harry turned away and went to mount his horse. Tom took a deep breath. The sun was high. It was time and he would need to gather concentration to complete such a long distance Apparation. He looked at Harry one more time.

Bold and brash and so completely lovely. Reckless and mouthy and terribly kind. The world would see him for what he was.

_You don’t deserve him._

Andromeda’s words echoed in his ear. His lips curled into a terrible smile.

How right she was.

Tom took a step back and Disapparated on the spot. Barty followed after him, turning on the spot.

Harry pretended not to watch him leave. He did away with his sorrow, his rage. There would be a time for it later on. This was not the time. It was a time for war, now.

Harry held up his wand and shot red sparks into the air. Freia let out a fearsome screech, and the army’s loud roars fell into a soft kind of quiet, still speaking but, not quite as loud.

“What shall we fight for?” Harry shouted. “You will listen to me. Listen!”

The troops fell into a dim silence that echoed for miles. Harry looked at all of them, his eyes wide as his horse paced back and forth and Freia hovered in the air behind him. Harry paused, looking at each and every one of them.

“Answer me! What do we fight for?” Harry called. None of them had an answer. “We fight for those that cannot fight! Seventeen years...for seventeen years, Albion has been brought to its knees! I say, no more! For thousands of years, our bloodlines lived upon this mighty Isle. And through the prosperity of Merlin, to the terror ages of the Tabooed, we survived. We _endured_! And we shall endure again! And again! We shall not bow to Death. No.”

And Harry wasn’t sure where he conjured the words from. He had never been good at speeches. He had never good at speaking. But, today was different. Today _felt_ different. Today, he would know what it was to love and lose. Today, he would meet Death on the battlefield and refuse to leave with her.

“WHAT DO WE SAY TO THE STRANGER, DEATH?” Harry roared, ignoring the stricken look on Tonks’ face.

And his army roared back to him. “ _NOT TODAY!”_

“ _NOT EVER!”_ Harry roared back. “We do not forgive! And we do not die! I am the Wyrdfod! Today, the Usurpers, will learn what it means to be Fateborn. Their time is done. No more being beaten into submission! No more starving! No more sorrow! That is for yesterday! Today, we bring _fire_ and _fury._ If they wish to see us burn, they shall burn with us! Yesterday, we hid in fear! Today, we wage _war_!”

* * *

**ALL?**

* * *

 

Hermione had never looked more beautiful.

And she had never wanted to die more.

The Throne Hall in Rowen’s haven was bright as Hogwarts’ Great Hall. The windows were tall, from ceiling to floor and flowers and silver candelabras floated through the air. The runner was pure white unlike the blood-stained one of Hogwarts, and there was no Gilded Throne. Still, Hermione would be crowned Queen today. Today, she would become a Slytherin.

The train of her robes dragged behind her like a weight. Silver chains were weaved through her braids and the green scarf wrapped around her neck felt like a noose.

All of their eyes were on her as she walked to her gallows. All of their terribly happy eyes and cruel, humorless smiles. Pansy Parkinson sneered at her as she walked past. That made Hermione fell better. At least one person watched her with the contempt that they all held for her. Hermione looked for Daphne but, she was lost in the sea of the Lords and Ladies from Essetir that Hermione didn’t know. Hermione looked to the front and saw them all.

Hermione stared at the cruel King. She looked around, helplessly, meeting bright grins and apathetic eyes. Barty stood behind his father, his face torn in terror and anticipation. Luna stared, utterly calm. Hermione's stomach turned and she swallowed her bile. Narcissa stood between Lord Dolohov and her brother, her carved diamond and her eyes such a stormy blue that it looked like flinty stone.

Hermione turned towards the eldest.

Crimson eyes pierced her soul and he looked calm despite the fact that he had sworn to her that he would save her. No one could save her. Hermione was dead. There was nothing left to be saved.

“My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of Merlin, the gods, and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” the wizarding officiant rasped and he pulled forth the leather cords that would bind them as Draco untied the sash around his neck that he would wrap around her throat like a noose.

Hermione swallowed as she went to kneel with Draco.

And then there were gasps.

Hermione and Draco spun around.

The interloper walked into the main aisle, cutting through the group of people. He was alone, though his head was held high.

“What?” Draco breathed and Hermione looked back at Narcissa. Narcissa’s eyes widened in horror and confusion.

Hermione glanced at the Dark Lord but his lips curled into a tiny smirk. Hermione’s mouth fell open and she nearly forgot how to breathe at the sight of the _beautiful_ green-eyed young man. His lips, red as blood, were curled into a smile, and ebony hair was wild around his head. The coronet on his head jutted out around the back of his like wooden branches painted silver. His battle robes were the color of old blood, chainmail and dragon scales.

In all of Hermione’s life, she had never seen someone as fearsome as the man that stood in the aisle. There was something about the way he held himself. Despite his obvious and unbelievable beauty, there was a brutality in his eyes, in the way he held himself. If there were ever such a thing as a god of war, this would be him; heartbreaking and terrifying and _beautiful_.

“Who?” Narcissa whispered.

“I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm, Alpha of the Pride, the Wyrdfod, and the Fairest of Them All,” the Fairest said, walking forward. “And I think my invitation got lost in the mail.”

Hermione shivered. _Wyrdfod._

“The Pretender,” Draco murmured. “You come to die.”

The Fairest pulled his sword and took another step forward, raising his wand.

“I come to fight,” the Fairest snarled. “Draco Malfoy of House Slytherin...Usurper of the Gilded Throne, I declare _war!_ ”

And the world exploded into chaos.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, y'all. Here was are on the precipice of the grand finale of ARC TWO. I told you I wanted this finished by Thanksgiving. I wasn't joking. Look out for the next chapter on Wednesday night/Thursday morning, and then, Thursday afternoon for the interlude. I think there are two interludes for this one, though. The second interlude acts more like a prologue for ARC THREE rather than wrapping up ARC TWO like the first interlude does. I'll let you know when I start posting the next arc after I figure out the next chapter.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

When Narcissa saw him, her breath was taken away.

He looked nothing like Lily Gryffindor and James Potter, and everything like them too. His emerald eyes belonged to Lily, but that hair belonged to James. He was more beautiful than both his parents combined. More beautiful than Tom or Bellatrix.

He was stunning in his ferocity and his looks. Probably the most beautiful person she'd ever seen. There was surety in the way he moved, in the way his chest moved with every breath. Narcissa let out a strangled little cry.

_Then, comes another. Younger. More beautiful to cast you down and to take all you hold dear._

And here, he had come.

It wasn't Hermione Granger or Daphne Greengrass that should have concerned Narcissa. Not the wraith-like thinness and sharp wit. Not thin waists and exposed, young teats. Not pretty smiles and pretty eyes. She should have been concerned with fire and grace and divine brutality wrapped in snow, blood, and raven's feathers.

It was the Fairest.

The world seemed to slow and Narcissa took a step forward, raising a trembling hand.

“You are...you are the one,” she rasped. “You are the god.”

The Fairest regarded her with wide eyes. And he saw her for what she was, and she saw him. They did away with their person suits, and Narcissa saw a god when others only saw beauty.

“I am,” the Fairest allowed.

This god. This lion god. And she, Queen of Snakes. A basilisk and a lion, trapped in an endless cycle. A monster and a god.

“And you are her,” he breathed. “The Godkiller.”

The Fairest took a step forward, slowly pulling his sword and then he was running as the Lords and Ladies scattered, screaming and carrying on. Some Apparated on the spot. Others ran for the doors, not knowing how to Apparate.

Hermione cowered in terror, searching for someone to help her. The Fairest launched himself forward, swinging his sword down on Draco. A sword met his, blocking and Hermione stared at Dolohov’s large, hulking shadow. The Fairest’s eyes narrowed on Dolohov, slowly tilting his head.

“You are Antonin Dolohov,” the Fairest murmured.

Dolohov’s lips curled. “And you’re the little bitch that cost me my _land_.”

“Ginevra Weasley owes you a death. I’ll let her have this one,” the Fairest whispered and then he kicked out, knocking Dolohov back into Draco. The Fairest spun, his eyes wide in the chaos, and he looked over Hermione. Hermione stared back at him in wide-eyed terror. “You’ve got a wand, Hermione Granger?”

Hermione nodded, wordlessly.

“Good. We’re going to run. Get it out,” he said. He looked around, pulling his wand and shouting a spell at an approaching soldier. The soldier flew back, properly Stunned. “I’m Harry Wildfyre and I’m here to spring you. Let’s go. BARTY!”

Hermione gasped as Barty broke away and grabbed Hermione by the hand and they began to run down the aisle. Hermione nearly tripped over her skirts as Barty bodily dragged her from the Hall, running behind Harry Wildfyre. Hermione glanced over his shoulder, hoping to catch sight of the Slytherins. Draco was recovering, tended to by Dolohov and _Blaise_ , but Narcissa and the Dark Lord watched them. Narcissa’s expression twisted in her cold rage.

“TOM!” she roared. “ _KILL. THEM._ ”

The Dark Lord took a step forward, a curiously amused glint in his crimson eyes. Hermione turned back around, terrified of the look and began to run faster, her skirts bunched up in her arms.

“Barty! What’s happening?” she shouted in terror. She looked around at the running nobles. They were trampling over each other to get out, and she couldn’t tell anyone from anyone anymore. She froze, suddenly. “Luna! Where’s Luna?”

“Luna will be fine,” Barty muttered. “Rodolphus is getting her. Come on, Hermione. We don’t have much time.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hermione Granger. I’m going to get you out of here alive. _BOMBARDA!_ ”

The enormous doors shattered open and Hermione gasped in awe of the amount of power the Fairest possessed. The doors crumpled under his force and Hermione stared outside and saw only carnage.

The soldiers that had accompanied them to Rowena's haven were all engaged in battle. Hermione gasped as she saw a centaur, wearing armor emblazoned with a phoenix on his chest, leap over another soldier, letting loose an arrow that found its mark in his neck. Blood spurted out, covering Hermione's chest in blood. Hermione froze in shock.

“Come on, Hermione! No time to stop!” Barty shouted, pulling her along. They ran through the battle, and there were so many things happening that Hermione could barely catch sight of them. All she could see was blood and magic and carnage and _war_. War was as _ugly_ as it was beautiful. “Harry! This would be the time to call Freia.”

Hermione screamed as she heard the screech. It was the deafening, inhuman sound that she had ever heard in her life. It was something that she couldn’t even conjure in her dreams. The Lady Granger looked up as a dark shadow crossed overhead, its wings outstretched and Harry Wildfyre raised his hand.

“ _FREIA, TO ME!_ ” Harry roared as they ran and the _dragon_ shrieked, landing in front of them, curling around them like an enormous living armor. Hermione threw herself against Harry’s body, crying out

“Is that a _dragon_?” Hermione demanded.

Harry grinned at her and turned to Freia. One poison yellow eye looked back at him, blinking lazily. Hermione spun back and watched the Aurors and soldiers stumble back, terrified as ‘Freia’ lifted her large head and let out a fearsome roar. Harry pulled away from Hermione and Barty and held up his sword.

“Freia, _füir.”_

And the world caught on fire.

* * *

**MIRROR, MIRROR**

* * *

 

“Kill them,” Narcissa growled, looking around at the chaos. She could hear the screams and carnage just outside the walls. She looked around and saw her soldiers rushing out. Dolohov was roaring out orders, Conjuring his battle robes onto him, Conjuring a sword.

He looked back at her and she nodded once.

Dolohov didn’t look back again.

“Did you see him?” Draco murmured, reaching for Blaise who squeezed tight on his shoulder.

“I saw him, Draco. I saw him,” Blaise murmured. He turned to Narcissa, Bartemius, and the Dark Lord. “What do we do?”

“We fight,” Voldemort said, coldly. He didn’t spend another second waiting, already drawing his sword and stalking out of the Throne Hall, intent on reaching the battle as soon as possible.

Narcissa nodded, turning on Lord Crouch.

“What should we do?” Lord Crouch asked.

Narcissa looked around at the Lords and Ladies of the court that remained. She opened her mouth to speak when there was a deafening screech. They cowered, clapping their hands to their ears. Nearly all of them cowered.

“What is _that_ , Mother?” Draco rasped.

A great shadow came through the Throne Hall. Narcissa’s lips parted as she saw the great flying beast, a plume of fire escaping it. It couldn’t be... _no,_ it couldn’t be.

“That’s...a _dragon,_ ” Lord Crouch whispered.

They stared in wonder as the dragon flew past again, letting out another shriek of fury.

“Spears,” Narcissa said, coolly. “Gather all of the Eastern Lords that you know are decent duelists and _fight._ Serve your King!”

She ended with a roar. But, none roared back in eagerness. Narcissa spun around and her nostrils flared. Daphne Greengrass stepped forward, staring at them all with the coldest expression that Narcissa had seen except for in the mirror.

“Daphne?” Draco whispered.

Daphne’s lips pressed into a thin line, and suddenly the air smelled like ocean water. The entire Hall smelled the way tears tasted. Suddenly, Daphne Greengrass looked nothing like the girl that Draco had come to know. She took a step back, reaching back to grab onto Augusta and Neville Longbottom. The host of Eastern Lords—all except for Lord Crouch—gathered around the Longbottoms.

“Draco,” Narcissa warned, holding out her hand to him.

Draco took a step closer to Daphne.

Daphne slowly shook her head. “I will drown you both,” she promised. “I will _drown_ you.”

The cracks of the Disapparation was deafening, and Draco clapped his hands to his ears. He cowered, letting out a quiet whimper, and then she was gone. She was gone as if she had never existed and Draco felt his heart shatter. When he turned to look at his mother, Narcissa was staring at him without a single emotion on her face.

“Mother…” he whispered.

Narcissa shook her head. “Hush, my boy. Mother will end this,” she whispered and then she whipped her wand over her head.

Draco's eyes widened as her elegant robes slowly transformed into something grander. Her skirts shortened, giving way to dark trousers with a blue overskirt that parted at her front. Chainmail hung over her shoulders, covering her torso. And then, a crossbow appeared in her hand. Narcissa turned to Bartemius Crouch and her eyes narrowed.

“Lord Crouch, outfit my son for battle. I will handle this,” Narcissa snarled. She strode forward, her eyes narrowing on one stray Order member in the Entrance Hall.

Slowly, she lifted her crossbow, drawing back with her wand. She snapped her wand forward, and the magical bolt found its mark in the center of the man’s skull.

* * *

**ON THE WALL**

* * *

 

Ginny let out a guttural roar as she took the string of her bow to a man’s neck and wrenched it across, slitting his throat. His gurgling echoed in her ear like a war drum, but it was over as soon as it began. Ginny spun, shooting another arrow into a man’s chest, watching him crumple. Just as it killed another man, a heavy blow came across the back of her head and she crumpled, falling to one knee.

She turned her knee, blinded by blood and shouted, “ _REDUCTO!_ ”

Blood splattered her entire front, filled her mouth. Ginny spat out the mouthful of blood and gore that didn’t belong to her. She wiped away the blood from her eyes with a quick swipe of her hand. She staggered up, clutching the back of her head, observing the carnage that surrounded her. She didn’t know if she had killed friends or foes, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was her survival.

Ginny had been in battle since she was a child. Her first kill was made at the tender age of thirteen. Battle and blood were not foreign. But, there was something daunting about war. It roared in her ear, so loud that could barely hear her thoughts. Everywhere she turned, she saw foe and friend equally slain. Freia roared over their heads, swerving and dodging the spears being thrown into the air, carefully waiting for her master's command.

“Ginny! Ginny!”

Ginny spun, her rope braid whipping around with her. Her heart dropped into her belly.

She had seen him since it happened.

It was inevitable as an Order member. Antonin Dolohov had been one of the most active Death Eaters and was formidable. He was gruesome and cruel, but he was at his most terrible outside of battle. Ginny knew that well.

Slowly, Ginny lifted her bow, pulling forth what felt like her last arrow. She took aim at his head, as he was distracted dueling with both Michael Corner and Justin Finch-Fletchley, Cedric’s Adored Ones. Ginny felt like every moment of her life had led up to this moment. Ginny’s life was split in two for her—before the rape and after the rape.

Ginny barely remembered anything before.

She remembered _everything_ after.

Ginny’s eyes narrowed as she prepared to let loose the most important arrow of her life.

She let it fly.

Dolohov looked up and whipped his wand. The arrow disintegrated.

Ginny’s heart stopped in her chest as Dolohov grinned at her and then whipped around, slicing his sword across Michael Corner’s throat. Ginny could just hear a familiar shout in her ear, yet she felt so far away. Dolohov still hadn’t looked away from. Or rather, it was like he was looking through her.

Dolohov waved his wand, lazily, batting Justin away. Justin flew away from the duel site, crashing into another duel.

And then, Dolohov bowed to her.

Ginny slowly slung her bow across her back and tilted her chin up. She took a step forward and then another. Cedric staggered after her, just at her shoulder but, Ginny paid him no mind. Her eyes never wavered from her opponent.

“Ginevra Weasley. How I’ve missed you,” Antonin Dolohov rasped.

"Do you know him?" Cedric whispered. Ginny could feel the harshness of his breath against her ear. He had put his mourning away for later.

“A Death Eater. He raped me when I was a girl,” Ginny said, coldly. She lifted her chin higher. “Dolohov.”

And then she fell into a bow, never shattering eye contact. Dolohov’s lips curled into a smile.

“Let us begin. _Avada Kedavra_ ,” Dolohov hissed.

Cedric flicked his wand, Summoning a broken body in front of the spell. He cringed when he realized that it was Michael’s. Ginny didn’t flinch as the body fell away in a crumpled heap.

“ _Mardkhora_ ," she growled. The Man-Eating Curse erupted from her wand and Dolohov seemed surprised by the Darkness of the spell. He batted it away with a quick Shield Charm and Ginny roared, launching herself forward, Cedric at her side.

It was a true duel then. Ginny didn’t need words. Instead, she used her _rage_. With every twitch of her muscles, another curse exploded out of her in jets of black and red, in streaks of white and bright blue and sparks of purple. And every time, Dolohov laughed, batting them away. His eyes were alight with both fury and excitement. Ginny looked down at the man’s crotch and her sneer grew into a grimace.

He was _hard._

“I’ve always remembered _you_ , Ginevra Weasley. You were a tight little whore. Nice underneath me. You were always my _favorite_ ,” he hissed.

Ginny let out an inhuman roar, and then she was flying forward, ripping her bow off her back. Dolohov looked surprised that she had abandoned their magical duel for a physical one. Ginny snarled, whipping around him, bringing the arrow string to his neck. Before she could slide the razor-thin string across his neck, his hand looped through, his wrist breaking through the bowstring. He spun around, slamming his fist in her stomach. Ginny reacted as if she hadn't felt it though she felt agony ripple up her body. He snatched her bow from her hand and brought it across the back of her head.

Ginny grunted as she fell to her knees.

“ _Bombarda!_ ” Cedric shouted.

The ground between Ginny and Dolohov exploded. Just as Ginny flew back, so did Dolohov. Cedric caught Ginny around the middle.

“Thanks,” she rasped.

“He killed Michael,” Cedric said as explanation, a guttural growl that reminded Ginny that this man had spent many years as a beast. The rage on his face was too powerful to be human, and Ginny knew how powerful human rage could be.

The two looked away from one another and Ginny’s eyes widened as a tall, thin man joined at Dolohov’s side. His skin was stretched tight across his face and his eyes were so dark that Ginny was terrified of drowning in them.

“That’s Walden MacNair. He’s Commander of the Navy,” Ginny said. She swallowed hard. “He’s a Death Eater. One of the first. Get ready, Cedric.”

The two lifted their wands, ready for the inevitable duel.

“You won’t be needing this anymore, sweetheart,” Dolohov growled and then he broke her bow in half over his knee. Ginny felt her rage swell. “MacNair, let’s finish this, eh?”

And then, their vision was obscured by a flurry of red.

Ginny gasped as Tonks was suddenly in front of the two Death Eaters and she roared in their face, bringing her swords across MacNair's throat, taking his head clean off his shoulders. Dolohov barely had a moment to react before Tonks was launching herself backward, standing in front of Cedric and Ginny.

“You...you moved so fast!” Cedric gasped.

Tonks didn’t even look away from Dolohov as he frantically tried to back away. The man turned on his heel and began to run.

“He’s getting away!” Ginny shouted, pointing as the man disappeared into the thick of the battle. She went to pursue him but Tonks’ hand shot out.

“No. We can always get him another time. Look around, Ginny. Look alive,” Tonks barked in her commander-voice. Ginny winced, looking up and she swallowed her terror.

They were surrounded by at least two dozen soldiers. Three-quarters Muggle. A quarter magical.

“Okay. Okay,” Cedric whispered, breathing softly. Slowly, he turned, putting his back to the two of them. Ginny finished the formation, turning away from them, staring at their surroundings.

“Okay. We can do this,” Tonks murmured. “Twenty-four. Three of us. Okay. Ginny, summon your arrows. You take eight. Cedric, you take eight. And I’ll take eight. That’ll work. That’ll work.”

Ginny didn’t say it wouldn’t even though she knew...it _wouldn’t._

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!”_ Tonks roared, spinning out and jerking her crimson sword back. An electric green spell shot out of the end of it, colliding with one of the soldiers.

Ginny whipped her wand out, Summoning her arrows to her hand. She turned slamming them into the ground and then she was on her knees, whipping out her arrows from the ground and shooting. She spun on her knees, taking out another through the throat. Cedric was roaring, leaping forward, spinning and beheaded another.

“It’s not enough!” he roared as a blade came across the back of his calf and he crumpled to one knee. He raised up his sword to block a blow, but he didn’t have the time to recover for another.

And before Ginny could run to him, there was a flash of green light.

She gasped as a streak of black covered them, a great broadsword swinging over the Dark Lord’s head as it came down on Cedric’s would-be killer. The soldiers cowered in fright as the Dark Lord fell back against Tonks’ back, lifting his own sword.

“Nymphadora, how many?” the Dark Lord hissed.

“Eighteen left. Ginny can cover stragglers,” Tonks barked.

The Dark Lord nodded once. “Let’s finish this.”

Ginny had seen many things in battle. She had seen atrocities and wonder. But, seeing the two Slytherins on the battlefield was awe-inspiring. Tonks and the Dark Lord had the same innate grace in battle that those Fateborn seemed to possess. Tonks brought down man after man while the Dark Lord whipped his wand, disemboweling those he didn’t have a chance to cut down. They moved in perfect sync, ducking around one another, covering each other without a second thought, barely breathing.

“Cover the Prince!” the Dark Lord roared.

Ginny blinked, suddenly snapping back into action. She gathered her arrows and slid across the open space on her knees, taking a defensive position over Cedric as he sloppily tried to heal the deep laceration on his calf.

The Dark Lord hissed as he spun through the air, cutting through one of the last. As the two Slytherins closed in on their last opponent, the man suddenly stunk of shit and urine. He quivered before them, dropping his sword and wand to the ground, lifting his hands above his head.

“M-m-my Lord? W-why?” he whispered.

Voldemort’s lips curled into a snarl and with a swing of his sword, the man was beheaded. “Long live Harry Wildfyre. Long live the King.”

* * *

**WHO IS**

* * *

 

“Hermione! HERMIONE!” Barty roared as he ran across the battlefield, slaying all the men and women that got in his way. He slammed his sword into a man’s chest, to the hilt before ripping it out. To another woman, he Summoned her heart from her chest and crushed it in his hand before letting it fall to the field, reduced to a bloody pulp. “HERMIONE!”

"I need some backup!"

Barty jerked in the middle of his running and he turned to see a familiar shock of red hair. It was  Weasley. Barty dashed forward, pressing his back against Ronald Weasley’s. Ron looked over his shoulder at him.

“Barty Crouch, right?” Ron asked. He whipped out his wand, blasting away another one of the Slytherin soldiers. He spun out, crashing to the ground and then was promptly trampled by a centaur.

“Yeah. I’ve got your back. But, I’ll need something from you,” Barty shouted. He Summoned another heart out of someone’s chest.

"What?" Ron roared as he ducked and threw his ax into someone's head. He Summoned it back, ripping part of someone's skull right off.

“The girl in the wedding robes? Hermione Granger? If you see her, run with her! Take her back,” Barty shouted and Ron scoffed.

“What does one girl matter?”

“She’s the richest heiress in the Republic, you dolt! If you want to discredit and humiliate Draco Slytherin, you’ll steal his damn bride,” Barty snarled, and then he lifted his wand. “ _Crucio_! _Imperio_! _Imperio!_ ”

The two Slytherin soldiers turned on his fellows and that finally gave Ron and Barty enough of a reprieve to catch their breath. Ron was a mess of blood and sweat, his face wane and his freckles stark against his skin. He looked dehydrated but he would live.

“Alright. But, I can’t get through all of this on foot,” Ron snapped. “I’ve lost my horse.”

Barty scoffed and turned around. He slowly took aim at one soldier riding past them on horseback.

“ _Avada Kedavra_.” The soldier crashed off, and the horse neighed loudly, skittish by the close call with Death. Barty raised his wand, whipping out a rope and lassoing the horse.

“Good enough,” Ron called as he ran and mounted the horse. He cut the rope Barty had Conjured with his wand and then he was riding past. “I’ll try to find her! You keep looking too!”

“I have to find the Lestranges!” Barty shouted back.

Ron didn’t respond, already riding into the chaos, swooping low to cut the throats of more soldiers. Barty cringed when he saw three Order members—a Veela, a witch, and a Muggle—die to the crushing might of a fallen giant. Barty turned away from the gruesome scene but once more, his vision was obscured by the crush of bodies.

“HERMIONE! RODOLPHUS! _HERMIONE!_ ”

Barty spun around at the sound of the familiar voice. He had never heard Luna's voice wrenched with terror but there it was. She wrapped her arms around her middle, screaming out their names, her white-blonde hair dyed pink from all the blood. She stumbled out of the way of a duel, ducking under spells.

“Luna! Luna!” Barty shouted as he skidded across blood soaked grass. He whipped out his wand, cursing one of the approaching soldiers and Banishing them _permanently._ He wrapped his arms around Luna, pulling her tight to his side. “Are you okay? Are you okay?”

"I can't...I can't find them. Where's Hermione? Rodolphus?" Luna wept, clutching onto Barty's battle robes. Her fingers were so wet with blood and tears, they slipped right off, finding no purchase.

“They’re in...they’re in the middle of that,” Barty whispered.

If he looked hard enough, he could make out Harry in the thick of it. Luna seemed to see him too.

“Is that...is that him?” Luna whispered. “Is that the Wyrdfod?”

Barty swallowed. “I...yeah, that’s him. That’s Harry Wildfyre.”

And Harry was fighting with the sort of brutality that Barty had only ever seen in his own Master. Harry’s face was speckled with blood, and he looked like he had a cut on his cheek and a burgeoning bruise around his neck. But, otherwise, he was whole. He wielded his sword without hesitation with one hand and his wand in the other. For every swing of his sword, he was awarded blood and every whip of his wand allowed another to bow under the force of his magic.

Harry headbutted another soldier, snarling, and stabbed his sword down, finishing him off. He ripped it out and with the force of his momentum, he whipped it around, slitting another man’s throat.

And then, they could see him no more, hidden by the cloud of carnage and magic in the air.

“We...we have to find Rodolphus. I-I told him I’d find him,” Luna stammered, frantically.

Barty shook his head. “I-I have to get you out of here and then I-I have to find Hermione,” he said instead.

Luna’s eyes widened. “I’ll go with you! We have to find her! She’s out here by herself. You took her! You took her and ran and then you lost her and I lost Rodolphus and…” she broke off with a sob.

Barty had never seen Luna cry. She was always so serene. Never affected. But, war turned the best into broken memories of themselves. Barty grabbed her by her shoulders.

“Luna, you _cannot_ break,” Barty said, firmly. “I know what happened to you, but you survived. You have to fight back. You are the strongest person I know besides Hermione. You cannot give up. You cannot break, do you understand me? We have to find Rodolphus and Hermione. We have to save them.”

“Save a traitor when you can’t even save yourself?”

Barty whipped around, eyes wild. His eyes narrowed on Thorfinn Rowle. Rowle, a fellow Death Eater, who had proven disloyal. Barty pushed Luna behind him and cracked his neck, slowing lifting his wand as he faced a man that had once been his comrade. His ally. His _friend._

“Rowle, you need to back away. I don’t want to kill you,” Barty admitted.

Rowle let out a harsh laugh. “Boy, I’ve been fighting for as long as you’ve been alive. What would the Dark Lord think if he saw you now? Fighting for the other side because of a tight cunt. You’re _pathetic_ , Crouch,” Rowle growled. Barty opened his mouth to debate his friend. “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

But, there were no friends in war.

Barty whipped his wand, Summoning a body in front of him. The green Killing Curse collided with the body. Barty Banished the corpse and followed with a nonverbal Cutting Curse. Rowle batted it away with a swing of his wand. Barty reached out with his hand, pulled it to his mouth and pressed the tip of his wand to his lips. He breathed out lightning, and Rowle’s eyes widened as he cast a Shield Charm. The lightning was redirected towards the sky.

The bolt of white seemed to draw attention.

But, Barty only had a mind for the duel before him and the girl that he was protecting. He raised his wand and then was hit with a spell.

 _His_ spell.

Barty crumpled under the Cruciatus, laughing and writhing with the agony. His back arched with the pain that felt like the stabbing of a thousand white-hot knives. Luna fell to her knees, holding his body in her lap, her arms tight around him to stop his seizing.

“Is this Rodolphus’ little slut?” Rowle snarled. He had a terrible smile on his face. “I wonder...would the Dark Lord allow me her as a gift? I would fuck her to death in front of Rodolphus’ traitor corpse.”

He let up the curse and Barty suddenly felt like he could breathe again. Luna helped him to his feet, but she stood just beside him now.

“You won’t _ever_ touch me," Luna snarled, suddenly spitting rage and she held up her wand, grabbing a tight hold on Barty's shoulder to steady him. "You won't _ever_ touch him again.”

“What are you going to do, _cunt_?” Rowle barked. He whipped his wand at her, letting a purple curse fly. Luna spun out of the way, dragging Barty with her.

“I will _crucify_ you,” Luna hissed.

“Who are you to threaten _me_?" Rowle laughed. He threw another spell at them and the ground in front of them exploded. They would've exploded with it if Barty hadn't thrown both of them back in time.

Luna staggered but didn’t let up. “I am Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophilius and _Pandora_. I am descended from a bloodline that is over a thousand years old and you do not _scare_ me," she snarled and then she spun, whipping her whole body around. With the momentum of her turn, she summoned magic from the air and Rowle was thrown backward, crashing into a duel before he came to a stop.

Barty’s eyes widened.

“What...the...fuck?” he whispered, staring at the fearsome woman before him.

Luna looked terrified at what she had done. And then she froze, looking into the air. “Mother?” she whispered.

But, Rowle had already recovered, drawing a sword from a fallen body and running at them. Barty curled himself around Luna, lifting his wand, preparing his most powerful Shield Charm.

But, it wasn’t needed.

As Rowle descended upon them, a figure appeared at their side, swinging his sword with a force that Barty had never seen. Rowle’s eyes widened as his Master’s sword cut across his front and blood spurted from his chest.

“M-my Lord?” Rowle rasped, collapsing to his knees, as if in prayer.

Voldemort’s face was cold and he pulled his wand. “ _Avada Kedavra._ ”

The green light lit Rowle’s face a ghastly color and Rowle went slack. He was dead. Voldemort stepped over the crumpled body.

“L-Lord Voldemort,” Luna whispered.

Voldemort turned and stared at them like he'd seen a ghost. Barty looked up and saw a red crimson cloak flowing after him. Tonks was running past them, her eyes trained on the slight clearing in the battle. They all looked and saw Harry, fighting his way across the field towards Minerva McGonagall as she dueled four soldiers at a time—Muggle and magical alike. Then, a familiar figure draped in blue stepped forward, blonde braids streaming behind her painted face.

_Narcissa._

And then Tonks skidded to a stop, staring at Luna.

“Pandora?” Tonks whispered, reaching out towards her before jerking her hand back in terror. “Pandora?”

“M-my mother. That’s my mother’s name...how do you know my mother?” Luna whispered.

Tonks shook her head, clearing her mind of everything rushing past her.

“It doesn’t matter. I have to get to Harry. I have to get to Harry and McGonagall. I have to,” Tonks said, frantically, looking around. She paused. “Remus...where’s Remus?”

“Lupin is at the rear, taking care of deserters,” Voldemort murmured. “Nymphadora…”

“Where’s Harry? I have to get to him. He can’t...he can’t do this alone. He...he needs to know. He needs to know,” Tonks rasped.

And then she was interrupted by a harrowing, broken scream. It was the type of grief that Barty had never heard nor witnessed. It was a voice that he recognized.

“Harry…” the Dark Lord whispered.

The scream continued, getting louder and louder, cracking and breaking and fracturing their world. Barty looked around as people flinched from the sound, and it seemed like the war had quieted for just a moment, to witness the public grief. And then the scream tapered out.

“ _Harry_ ,” Tonks sobbed. She turned round and round, as if unsure where to go “I have to get to him. It’s too...late. I _have_ to. I can’t do this. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. He doesn’t _know._ He has to know, Uncle. He has to know that he’s...that Pandora...Harry! Harry!”

“NYMPHADORA!”

Tonks froze as Voldemort shouted at her. Finally, she turned to her uncle and looked up at him. He was staring down at Luna Lovegood like he'd never seen her before. Barty held her tight against his chest and shook his head.

“Uncle?” Tonks whispered, her voice cracking.

“You will take Barty and Luna. Find Rodolphus Lestrange and _run_ ,” Voldemort commanded.

Tonks’ heart stopped. “No! I can’t leave Harry!”

“I can’t leave Hermione!” Barty roared even as he held Luna tighter against his body. She trembled, her eyes wide as Voldemort spun suddenly drawing his wand in arc.

The running soldiers exploded in showers of blood, raining over them.

“I will find Harry. I will _not_ let him die. I won’t allow it,” Voldemort hissed.

Tonks scoffed. “If he died, you’d be free from your Vow. I don’t _trust_ you, Voldemort,” Tonks accused, raising her wand.

“Trust this: I am about to become _everything_ that I said I wouldn’t be and everything they said that I _would_ be. Kingmaker. Oathbreaker. Kinslayer. Kingslayer,” Voldemort said, coldly and Tonks took a step back, her eyes wide.

“Kinslaying?” she whispered.

Voldemort raised his wand. “I am willing to go the lengths that I would never ask of anyone. Take her. Take Luna Lovegood and run. I’ll send Rodolphus after you. Don’t let Pandora’s daughter _die_. We can’t let Pandora’s daughter die.”

Tonks trembled at the thought and she reached out, yanking Luna against her chest. Luna let out a cry, reaching back out for Barty and Voldemort.

“Don’t...uncle, don’t let him _die._ Save him. Tell him… ‘you are the Light’. Tell him. Don’t. Let. Him. _Die._ This is what it means to be Fateborn,” Tonks begged, tears streaming down her face and then she spun, disappearing in a swirl of crimson.

* * *

**FAIREST**

* * *

 

The fist connected with his mouth and Harry grunted as his tooth flew out of his mouth, ripped free. The soldier looked amused by his audacity and Harry wiped the blood pouring from his mouth, swallowing the taste of iron. Harry’s lips pulled into a sneer and he spun, bringing the sword down across the man’s wrist, taking his hand off. The soldier screamed and Harry quickly followed with a blade across the man’s throat.

He used to his momentum to fire off another Reductor Curse and more blood showered through the air. Harry wanted to use his Fire, but the battle was fought in close quarters. There was no telling as to whether he’d catch an ally in the heat of his flames.

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

Harry’s head jerked up at the familiar voice. He felt panic overwhelm as McGonagall battled four soldiers at a time. A Muggle soldier crumpled at her feet like a ragdoll. It was clear the woman was only really paying attention to the magical threats. Silver and red lit her face as she batted away spells and jinxes, returning curses tenfold.

Something caught Harry’s eyes.

A woman was approaching the duel, a crossbow high in her hand and a wand in the other. Her long blonde braids bounced against her back. Her blue eyes were colder than even Draco’s, and there was something about her that looked inhuman. Harry could recognize something about himself in others.

_Fateborn._

The Godkiller.

“Madame! Madame, look out!” Harry shouted, but he was drawn back into his own battle, having to defend himself. McGonagall didn’t hear him and Harry threw his hand out, scalding one soldier across the face, watching his skin melt and twist and burn.

Harry staggered away from the smell of burning flesh towards McGonagall. McGonagall was still deep in battle, but as she slew the second Muggle soldier, she finally seemed to notice Narcissa’s presence. Narcissa stood in the thick of the chaos, untouched by blood or sweat or filth. She looked tall and powerful, and her Fateborn name suited her. _Godkiller_.

Narcissa slowly took aim.

"NO!" Harry screamed, pushing through the thick of the bodies, ducking under spells and skidded through mud and dirt on his knees. He pushed up as he fell, pushed over by a falling centaur. He shouted when a body fell on his leg, pinning him to the ground. " _Bombarda!_ ”

The body exploded, becoming nothing and Harry pushed himself up, scurrying forward.

“MADAME! MADAME!” Harry shrieked.

His world zeroed into a single moment. It was only a moment. Harry would remember it as happening in less than a second and taking a thousand years.

McGonagall turned as the magical soldier tried to take her from behind. Narcissa lifted her wand in one hand. She lifted her crossbow in the other.

The Godkiller drew her wand back, and the air quivered.

He would always swear that he heard the way the bolts sounded entering her flesh. The red light of a Cutting Curse seared itself to inside of his eyeballs.

Harry screamed as McGonagall’s broken body crumpled to the ground, her back arched, three bolts lining her spine, the cut throat still spewing blood from Narcissa’s ruthless Cutting Curse. Narcissa looked up at the sound, her teeth bared into a bloody grin. She spun, her crossbow raised over her shoulder and her wand in her hand. Harry fell to his knees, unable to move, just as he reached her side.

The world seemed to slow down in its chaos.

McGonagall reached a trembling hand towards him, the other hand pressed against her throat.

“L-Li—” she gurgled before her eyes went blank and Harry couldn’t stop _screaming_.

"Harry! Madame!" Hagrid shouted, running over. He leaped over the other fallen bodies, his gaze only on Harry, his hammer loose in his hands. Harry's eyes widened and he raised his hand to stop him.

“Hagrid, n—”

“ _Avada Kedavra_ ,” Narcissa hissed and Harry screeched as the green spell connected with Hagrid’s body.

Hagrid fell mid-run, collapsing with a thud that would’ve made the ground tremble if it weren’t for the carnage that roared around them. Harry let out a broken scream, flinching away from the death. Narcissa’s lips curled into a small smile as she turned her wand onto him. Harry stared at her, unable to move.

“ _Avada—_ ”

“ _Scindo Cor!_ ”

Harry’s eyes widened as a woman in white stood before him, her wand held out. Narcissa dove out of the way of the Heart-Fragmenting Curse. Before Narcissa could recover, another duel crossed in front of them, temporarily shielding them. Hermione Granger spun around, looking down at him with wild eyes. She was covered in blood, crimson slicking her entire front from the hem of her dress up to her nose. She trembled.

“You have to get up. Get _up_ , Harry Wildfyre!” Hermione shouted, throwing her hand out.

“Why? She’s dead…” Harry whispered, staring at McGonagall’s broken body.

Hermione shook her head. “ _YOU’RE THE WYRDFOD! GET UP! YOU HAVE TO SAVE US! SAVE US FROM THEM!”_

And Harry jerked with her shout. He looked up at her, lost, but she took his hand anyway, yanking him up. He stumbled, raising his sword. Hermione’s face was hard, and she lifted her wand, standing at his side.

“You should run,” Harry rasped. He was tired. So very tired.

“I’m _tired_ of running,” Hermione snapped back and she suddenly waved her wand over the two fallen bodies. Harry’s eyes widened. “That’ll...that’ll keep them safe until this is over.”

Harry swallowed. “I...I can’t leave without their bodies,” Harry said, softly.

Hermione’s eyes didn’t soften. “You won’t,” she said. She lifted her wand and shut her eyes tight. Harry’s eyes widened when the words emerged. “ _Expecto Patronum_.”

A silvery otter leaped forth from her wand. Non-verbally, Hermione waved her wand again.

“This is Hermione Granger,” she said to the otter. “I am with Harry Wildfyre. The _Wyrdfod_. If you find this, you’re on the Order’s side. We have two bodies here that need to be retrieved. Follow the red sparks!”

The otter dashed away the moment that she finished speaking and then she lifted her wand, ready to send up the red sparks.

“What are _you_ doing, little sister?”

Hermione hesitated and Harry turned to see a man that looked nothing like Hermione. He was tall and dark with terribly cruel light eyes. He staggered towards them, the battle already taking its toll on him.

“Get back,” Hermione snarled. She didn’t hesitate a second time. She sent red sparks into the air and Blaise whipped his wand, spitting a curse that neither could hear.

Harry reached in front of them, shooting a nonverbal Shield Charm.

“Your husband is looking for you,” Blaise said, coldly and he staggered back.

Harry froze as he stepped to the side. He was flanked by a large, hulking man that held his wand tight in his fist and a mallet in the other.

This Draco Slytherin was different from the man that Harry remembered.

This Draco Slytherin moved with a sense of purpose, his grey eyes turned to steel in the war light.

This Draco Slytherin was not a figure of malice and rage. He moved with the heaviness and cruelty of grief.

This Draco Slytherin looked like he had nothing to lose. And Harry knew that this wouldn’t be easy.

“Are you sure you don’t want to run?” Harry muttered at the corner of his mouth.

Hermione Granger scoffed at him. “You can’t take them all by yourself. Are you ready?”

“Are you going to fight me, _sister_?” Blaise shrieked, his eyes wide with madness.

Hermione’s gown was in rags, the train long gone, covered in fresh blood. Her glass slippers were long gone, having been turned to shards. Her feet were bloody and ruined and she had never felt more like herself.

“I’m going to kill you,” she promised.

Blaise laughed. “I _dare_ you. Kill me...just as I _murdered_ your filthy Muggle father. Yes, Mother and I were _eager_ for that. He died like the filth he was. Succumbed to something weak like _poison._ ”

Hermione’s nostrils flared. Her eyes widened so much that her pupils looked like tiny pinpricks.

“ _CARNIFEX!_ " Hermione shrieked, throwing one of the Darkest curses she knew. The Butchery Curse took Blaise by surprise and he ducked out of the way.

“ _PRAESTRANGULO!”_ Blaise snarled the Asphyxiating Curse just as Hermione fired off a Disarming Charm.

Harry’s eyes widened at the ferocity of Hermione and Blaise’s duel. It was all dripping magic and spells. When Hermione and Blaise’s spells collided, a burst of power blew back the observers’ hair, and magical remnant dripped off, crackling like lightning. Blaise gritted his teeth as Hermione’s red Disarming Charm began to push back harder and rolled his shoulders, hissing.

Harry spun as he heard the descending piece of steel. He turned, pulling up his sword for a block and he gasped when he saw how close Draco’s face was to his.

“Pay attention, Pretender,” Draco said through clenched teeth. His face was pale. Harry could see the whites of his eyes. “I want to see the light leave your eyes when I impale you on my sword.”

It was two duels, happening side by side, one fought with steel and the other with magic. Harry staggered under the force of Draco's blows, shocked by the amount of force behind them. After being taken by surprise, to begin with, Harry didn't think he'd recover his footing enough to go on the offense. He took each blow, parrying them away, defending himself. He ducked under a heavy swing, cringing away from it. Draco spat at him.

“I will _kill_ you. You killed my _friends_. My _men._ You aspire to my _throne_!” Draco roared, punctuating each accusation with a blow that Harry took as best as he could. Harry cried out as he was nearly thrown into the middle of Hermione’s duel.

Hermione took it with ease, pulling her spell back and shooting off a quick Disarming Charm that threw Draco back before returning to her duel.

“Thanks!” Harry cried and she barely acknowledged it as she spat out another curse that Blaise flung away with a flick of his wrist.

Harry launched himself forward, finally on the offensive. He got in two quick hits, slamming the pommel of his sword and cracking Draco’s nose. Draco roared as blood streamed from his nostrils. Harry grunted when the large man crashed into his side. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and went to shake him.

“No, Crabbe. He’s mine,” Draco hissed bitingly.

They crashed together again, steel upon steel. The sharp edges slid against one another, sparks flying between them, biting their cheeks. Harry was sliding through the wet grass, towards Hermione and Blaise's duel.

“ _CRUCIO!_ ” Blaise roared, aiming for Hermione.

Hermione ducked under it. Her eyes narrowed as she gathered the hatred that stirred in her belly. Her hatred was all-consuming, something that had festered and grown for years. Hermione had once been sick with her hatred, but now, it was so much _more_. Her hatred had grown into the one thing she had been deprived of for years— _power._

“ _Avada Kedavra_ ,” Hermione hissed, aiming at Blaise.

Blaise tried to spin out of Hermione’s way, but it was too late. The spell connected with its mark and for a moment, Harry’s world was colored green.

Draco let out a hoarse cry of agony as Blaise's body fell like an abandoned ragdoll and he threw his sword down again over Harry. Harry crumpled to his knees from the force of the blow. Hermione took a step back in confused terror as the dragon flew overhead, shrieking and avoiding the spears being thrown into the air. Hermione spun as Draco threw his sword down and Harry fought against him, slowly rising.

Hermione took a step forward to help when there was a loud galloping. She turned, wide-eyed as a redheaded man galloped straight towards her. He was broad-shouldered and strangely handsome covered in mud and blood. The phoenix emblazoned across his chest helped. Hermione raised his wand anyway.

She had no idea whose side anyone was on. Barty and Luna were lost to her.

“Stop or I’ll—” she started.

"Barty sent me! Up you get," the redheaded man with the war ax said, grabbing Hermione by the waist and slinging her up onto the horse behind him.

They watched as Harry slowly stood, pressing Draco's blade back with his own, his body trembling with the effort. He kicked out, catching Draco in the chest. Draco stumbled back but came back twice as hard. The world seemed to slow as if they were all moving through water and when Harry and Draco crossed blades again, once more, they were at a stalemate.

“You will not take my throne,” Draco hissed, his spittle flying on to Harry’s face.

“It was never _yours_ ,” Harry spat.

There was the abrupt click of a bolt emptying from a crossbow. An arrow whistled through the air and Draco looked up, sharply.

Harry spun, eyes wide with fear and he only caught a glimpse of the Godkiller, her mouth pulled into a grimaced.

His view was suddenly blocked by a man donning black. The bolt disintegrated mid-air.

“Tom…” Harry whispered as Voldemort spun, blasting Draco back with a nonverbal Disarming spell.

Harry staggered back as Voldemort stood before him, his sword held up defensively. The Dark Lord spun around and grabbed Harry by the back of his neck and pulled him in, pressing their foreheads together.

“Harry...grab Freia and run. Run and don’t look back,” Voldemort hissed, glancing over his shoulder. He batted away a stray curse with a flick of his wand.

“I’m not leaving you!” Harry roared. He spun and fired a lightning spell at an approaching soldier. The black and white jet of magic crashed into the Auror and he crumpled with a strangled cry. He whipped back around, staring up at Voldemort in desperation.

“You _will._ Leave me because you are the King that this wretched world doesn’t deserve. We don’t _deserve_ you. You are Fateborn. You are the Light,” Voldemort snarled, pressing a hard kiss to Harry’s lips. He pulled back and raised his wand again, turning his back on him, defending him.

Harry swallowed, pressing his forehead between Voldemort's shoulder blades.

"I love you," he whispered and then he spun around, running towards his landed dragon.

Freia shrieked at him. She bent her head towards him, whining hard as if she wasn't the great beast that everyone saw her as now. Harry swallowed hard as they were circled and he pressed his back against her as if he could protect her with his own body as he should've protected McGonagall and Hagrid.

And then, he thought of Morgin of Afallon.

Harry swallowed hard and spun, sinking his fingers between the scales, into the soft bits, slowly climbing. Freia lowered herself as if she knew what he was trying to do. Harry had no doubt that she did. He settled himself on the nape of her long neck, his fingers curling around two large spikes. Slowly, Freia began to go forward, roaring, and the Aurors stumbled back, even as they raised their wands, throwing spells at her near impenetrable body.

“Fly, Freia. _Renia_ ,” Harry said, so soft that he didn’t think she would hear.

But, then, she was crawling forward, her wings flapping and then they were airborne, flying through the air. Harry gasped as his stomach swooped, and his eyes water as she sailed through the skies, over the battle. There was something that felt so right as Freia went higher and higher. He clenched his thighs tight, held onto her spikes as tight as he could, as she spiraled through the air before she began to level out, hovering in the air.

_You are not just the Fire in your skin. You are not just a king. You are important. Necessary._

Harry could see all of their eyes staring up at him. Harry lifted his hands and Summoned the Fire. It spread between his fingers, a blazing fire that felt different from anything he had ever called to him before except one time. This felt like the fire when Freia was born.

The sun beat down harder on the world.

_What is the largest source of Fire?_

“Freia, _füir!_ ”

_He is not the sun. You are._

Freia opened her large mouth and roared, flames erupting and joining his Fire. He watched as the flames razed the ground, catching up Slytherin soldiers in its wake, twisting around the Order members with all the mastery Harry could muster. He felt sweat bead on his forehead for the first time from the heat of his flames. Harry raised both hands and watched as the fire swirled into the air and exploded in the sky, raining flaming jets of magic down on the battlefield.

The orange flames burned brighter and brighter until the world exploded white. Harry gasped as the heat burned away and the white Fire spun out from his hands, spiraling down to scorch the Earth, consuming the enemies in its path. Harry breathed easier as he stared at the pure Light that exploded around him.

And he knew what McGonagall had wanted to say.

_You are the Light._

Harry circled the battlefield, on Freia’s back, his eyes always trained on Tom as Tom watched his sister through narrowed eyes and she watched him back.

“How could you? How could you betray us?” Narcissa shrieked. Voldemort took a step forward, his sword raised as he circled with his sister. Narcissa raised her crossbow, her eyes narrowed.

“I have not betrayed you,” Voldemort said, evenly. Narcissa let out a wild, mad laugh.

“You have not _betrayed_ anyone?”

Voldemort closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Sister...whatever I have done to wrong you...whatever I have done to lead you to do this...to _murder_ our sister...I would fix it if I could,” Voldemort whispered to his youngest sister.

He remembered her when she had been innocent and whole. Her porcelain dolls, matching with the little bird’s. Their laughter, their childlike games. The way their faces lit up when they whispered their shared secrets.

Narcissa hadn’t laughed since the day the little bird had died.

There was only agony and self-loathing trapped in the blue pinpricks of her eyes.

"Would you? Would you bring back my closest friend? You would give me what I was promised?" Narcissa whispered, her voice cracking, her crossbow dropping.

“I would if I could. But, I cannot let you live,” Voldemort whispered.

Voldemort lunged forward, swinging his sword. Just as it descended, a sword intercepted. Voldemort felt the vibrations up his arms, deep in his bones and he looked at Draco. Draco looked almost frightened by his own actions. Narcissa looked at her son to her brother and tears slipped down her cheeks. Voldemort wasn't sure about the difference between lies and truth; between gods and monsters.

“Uncle,” Draco whispered, trembling.

Voldemort shook his head. “Draco. This is between your mother and I. Step away,” Voldemort snarled. Draco did as he was bid, terror stretching his face

“Before I die, tell me. Why was it never me? WHY WAS IT NEVER _ME_?” Narcissa roared, her voice breaking and cracking with grief and loneliness and Voldemort nearly trembled.

Her eyes were so pale. Like the lovely little bird. The first heart.

“You were a child. It can’t be any of us and I see that now. It could not be you and it will _never_ be you. The throne no longer belongs to the Slytherins and I will do _everything_ in my power to see your son slain and the Fairest, Harry Wildfyre crowned King-Emperor,” Voldemort said, sharply.

Narcissa shook with her fury and she stumbled back, her face twisted into something terrible.

“It all makes sense now! Why you favored Bellatrix all these years! Because no matter _how_ much you claim to love me, you could never have someone less beautiful sitting on the throne!” Narcissa hissed, her words so much more dangerous spoken lowly than screamed.

Voldemort swallowed his fury and broke his sister’s heart instead.

He grabbed her by the face and tilted her head up. She looked up at him with dead, cold blue eyes. Voldemort pressed his lips to her forehead before pulling back and stroking her soft, cold cheek.

He pressed his lips to her ear. “Dear sister, I never claimed to love you.”

He saw the moment her heart of ice shattered.

Voldemort stepped back as he looked at his enemy; a monster of his own creation.

“You did once,” Narcissa whispered.

And he knew that she remembered the same moment she did. The day that he had returned, his lips smeared with Helena’s blood, her blood dried into the lines of his palm.

_Make your heart cold as ice, my love, and one day, you shall sit on the throne made of bones and the blood of your friend. From porcelain to ivory to steel to diamond, my love._

“I did,” Voldemort choked. He stared at her and saw the little girl that he had taught how to play chess. The eager little girl that he had promised an empire. That his father had promised an empire. The porcelain doll that laid in the crypts beneath Hogwarts, the crypts Voldemort could never bring himself to visit. That little girl had died that day. “I cannot...kill you.”

He said it, confused. He couldn’t understand.

Narcissa stared at him with wide broken eyes. “And that makes you weak. You are _weak_ , Tom Marvolo Slytherin.”

It did not sound like an insult. It sounded as if Narcissa was trying to convince herself of it all. Voldemort swallowed, centering himself as the world burned around him.

“You misunderstand. I will kill you one day but, that day is not today. I will take my leave but, I want you to say it. Why have you done this?” Voldemort asked without any inflection.

He ignored the battle. Harry was directing the Order to retreat and the Death Eaters followed him. The Aurors were crippled, either ash or burning men or they were running for their lives. Freia shrieked through the air, her master perched on her back, fire swirling around them.

“To prove that I was the worthy one.”

Voldemort tilted his head. “Then...you have failed.”

The Dark Lord turned from her as Freia landed a hundred feet ahead of him, making the ground tremble. Harry held out his hand, his beautiful green eyes wide and frantic.

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!”_

Voldemort spun, summoning the dead body of an Auror. The smell of burning flesh filled Voldemort's nose and he tossed the body aside, staring at Narcissa. Narcissa stood in a crouch, the end of her wand still glowing green. The Prince of Snakes stared at the Princess of Vipers and lifted his chin.

“THE THRONE WAS ALWAYS MINE!” Narcissa roared. And then she took a step back, eyes wide. “But, it wasn’t...it wasn’t what I wanted.”

She sounded unsure. She looked wild, strands of blonde hair flying everywhere. She looked ragged as if she had run through the Forest in the dead of night. Voldemort wondered if this was what true madness looked like.

“Then, what did you want?” he asked.

Narcissa bit her lower lip. “I only wanted to be your equal.”

“Then...you have failed on two accounts.”

And Voldemort turned his back on his sister—his personal monster, the monster that he had made with own two his hands—and ran towards the dragon. He mounted it, sitting just behind Harry. Harry let out a cry and Freia rose into the air and they flew.

Voldemort didn’t look back.

* * *

**OF**

* * *

 

The Western Bridge was always an impressive piece of infrastructure. Even after decades, Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw were still in awe of the great stone bridge that stretched across the Narrow Sea. The lights that lit up the way burned eternally and felt like a beacon towards home. With every step, Salazar and Rowena felt closer to Helga—closer to their home.

“We’re nearly there,” Rowena said, her voice gentle.

Salazar nodded, as they began to cross, slow and steady. His stomach churned with his anxiety. As they drew closer to Westeron, it only reminded Salazar that his daughter was there. His second youngest daughter, Andromeda, who he had not seen in years. He had never known Andromeda well, and that was one of the many regrets that kept him awake at night.

_Did you even care where I had gone? Once upon a time, we were children. But, they have made us the monsters of their fairy stories._

Her words echoed in his dreams. Most nights, he dreamed of the night that his children had slaughtered his brother and sister. Godric and Helga had fallen dead under their might. They had slain Godric’s wife without hesitation or pity. He dreamed about the blood.

Most of all, Salazar dreamed of his son’s eyes. Betrayed and terrified. Betrayer and terrifying.

He dreamed of his son’s eyes when they had asked him to do what they could not. He dreamed of his son’s eyes when he had murdered their regime and had confessed to consuming Helena’s heart.

“Rowena?” Salazar asked as they walked across the bridge.

"Yes, Sal?" Rowena asked as if she knew what he was going to ask. He didn't doubt that she did.

Salazar swallowed. “Am I to blame?”

“No,” Rowena bit out.

It sounded like a lie.

They continued to walk in silence, eyes trained ahead. Salazar recounted his children’s fated names: Tom Kingmaker, Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer, Andromeda Empath, and Narcissa Godkiller. He had four children for fate. Rowena had had one, and yet his children had taken her away. He couldn’t understand how she could still bear to look at him.

Salazar jerked to a stop, his hand pressing against the heat at his side. Rowena's eyes widened as Salazar drew Godric's Sword. The blade was glowing, the same way it had when Salazar had known it was time. But, this time, it glowed even brighter. Slowly, Salazar lifted it above his head as it burned brighter and brighter.

The sun seemed to get brighter and brighter.

And then, a blast of white flames emerged from the Sword, swirling around them in greeting, tickling their cheeks. Everything was so bright, they felt like they might go blind.

Salazar stared in awe at the raw magic in the air. He had only felt it once before, a summer eighteen years ago when all the lights had died and been reborn.

Slowly, the flames receded and Godric’s sword became just a sword again.

Rowena swallowed. “He’s...he’s _beautiful_ ,” Rowena whispered.

And though they had not yet seen Lily’s son, the Fairest, Salazar couldn’t help but agree. Softly, he said, “He is.”

* * *

**THEM**

* * *

 

Neville shivered though he was one of the closest to the great fires in the middle of the barest part of Arcadia. His heart ached at such a large bonfire in his lush greenery, but it seemed like a necessity. There were still some recovering from the shock of the wedding. He looked over at his grandmother and Daphne. Daphne looked stone-faced, sitting on the ground next to their grandmother’s chair. They hadn’t been witness to the carnage, but they had heard it. They had heard it all.

Neville still heard his sister’s words echo in his ear.

_I will drown you._

He had never been more terrified of her. He knew that Daphne and his grandmother were both ruthless, but the extent of their vengeance knew no bounds.

Neville frowned, listening in on the growing debate. They all knew what was happening. A war had been brewing, but there was no pretending that it didn’t exist any longer. It had begun and in their own country. Essetir. The rest of the empire would hear in hours. The world would hear in days.

Albion was at war again.

Neville shivered.

“The proper course is clear! We pledge fealty to the King Harry Wildfyre and ride to join him in Westeron. He is the true heir. He is the Prince of Gryffindor,” Lord Bobbin declared. His heir, Melinda Bobbin, nodded in agreement, her eyes hard as she stood behind her father’s shoulder.

There were grumblings of agreement.

“Harry Wildfyre is not the King!” another shouted and there were quiet agreements. “We know nothing about his claim. We have no proof of his parentage! Who would the father be?”

“It’s clear: James Potter!”

“But, we don’t know that for sure!”

“Then who would we declare for?” Augusta Longbottom cried out, her voice trembling with age but still strong. Everyone fell silent to the oldest of them. They looked at her with wide eyes, bowing to her wisdom already. “We cannot be alone in this. The Slytherins acknowledge Harry Wildfyre as an opponent. The empire is at war!”

There was a great swell of conversation again, all arguing to and at one another. Lady Arncliffe stepped forward and looked around, her eyes shrewd and narrowed. She caught Augusta’s eye and the Lady of the great House Arncliffe nodded back. Augusta’s lips twitched, but she was careful not to show her hand just yet.

“My Lord! My Ladies! Here is what I say to these two kings!” Lady Arncliffe shouted over the rest. Slowly, they quieted, turning to face her.  She spat and the others were absolutely silent, then, staring at her. “Draco Slytherin is nothing to me, nor Harry Wildfyre neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some wretched seat? What do they know of the East and our mountains? Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again?”

She took a quick circuit around the bonfire, looking regal in her silvery robes, still stained red from the bloodbath just outside Rowena’s haven.

“What are you saying?” Lord Desford began.

Lady Arncliffe’s dark eyes narrowed. “I am saying that it was four we bowed to and now, those four are _dead_. There is only one King I mean to bend my knee to—the King in the East!” she roared, pointing.

All followed the line of her finger, staring at the young blonde man that stood next to Augusta, his face grim and ready.

Neville Longbottom didn’t flinch from his destiny. He had known that this was the plan. He had known since he was a child. It had been _years_ since Augusta Longbottom had laid out their plan. They had never veered or strayed from their course of vengeance, only adjusted it as things had played out to their advantage.

“Me?” he asked.

Augusta’s eyes cut over towards young Lord Belby. Lord Belby jumped up, nodding.

“You are of the Great House Longbottom. Once, your family was the only one to stand against the oppressive regime and they were slaughtered for it. But, as your family says...what is dead may never die. I would follow you and your blood, Neville Longbottom. The King in the East!” Lord Belby shouted, drawing his sword and falling to one knee before Neville.

Lady Arncliffe followed his example, drawing her wand and crossing it over her chest.

There was a long moment of uneasiness before old Lord Flitwick stepped forward. The Lords of the East looked to the eldest male of them, rivaling only Augusta in age. Slowly, Flitwick observed the Longbottoms for a long time. And then, he too pulled his wand and crossed it over his chest.

“I’ll have peace on those terms. They can keep their bloody castle and their ugly chair too. The King in the East!” Lord Flitwick squeaked.

Like a sea, the Lords and Ladies and children of the Houses of the East pulled their swords, falling to one knee, pulling their wands and saluting Neville. Neville glanced back at Daphne. Daphne stared back at him, grim-faced.

“Am I your sister, now and always?” Daphne asked.

“Now and always,” Neville said, immediately.

And so, Daphne stepped from behind him and rolled her shoulders back, falling to her knees before him. She took his hand in hers and brought them to her lips.

“The salt of the sea is yours in victory and defeat. The oceans and all under my family’s domain swear their loyalty to you, from this day until your last,” Daphne swore and they all felt the ground quiver beneath them. The saltwater rivers of Arcadia trembled in awe at her magical oath. And she roared, “The King in the East!”

“The King in the East! The King in the East! The King in the East! The King in the East!”

And the woman with pale eyes and even lighter hair watched the Essetireans rally around their new King from the shadows. She didn’t need to ask the three others what they were thinking. She already knew. She always knew.

_Is he the one?_

Pandora shook her head. “No. There is no King but the one called Wyrdfod.”

* * *

**ALL?**

* * *

 

Fleur and Gabrielle weaved their way through the streets, heads ducked low beneath the hoods of their cloaks. Gabrielle pressed closer to her sister's side as they passed their old dress shop. A man stood outside of it, speaking quietly to what looked like Republic officials. Gabrielle's fingers tightened on the hilt of her sword but she pressed on, refusing to stop for anything."

“To the docks,” Fleur hissed softly and Gabrielle nodded.

She was almost thankful for the way the fog hung low from the rain earlier. She imagined that it probably disguised the scent of blood left in her...in the chateau. Her old chateau. Her husband’s blood.

It was better not to dwell on it.

The two Veela women knew they were at the docks when the smell of fish and urine was too hard to ignore. Gabrielle raised part of her cloak over her nose, trying to block out the scent, but it was so strong that Gabrielle gagged. She swallowed the bile fighting to exit her body. Fleur quickly guided her through the fish sellers and towards one of larger ships.

The captain was speaking softly to a few crewmembers as they transported his cargo aboard.

"Sir, are you a merchant?" Fleur cried out, holding out her hand. Gabrielle stuck so closely to her, she might as well had been the woman's shadow.

The captain looked up, his lips curling into a sneer. “What’s it to you?” he barked.

“We...we need to go somewhere. We can’t stay here in the Republic. I’m willing to pay. I have money,” Fleur said, frantically. She ripped the little burlap bag off from around her neck and searched through it with a shaking hand. She paused and swallowed. “Wrong one...that’s our belongings. Sorry.”

She went to search through her other burlap sack at her hip, but the captain seemed to have already lost interest.

“Lass, my crew is on a tight schedule and we don’t do passenger trips. If you’ll excuse me,” he said scathingly. He turned around even as Fleur drew out a fistful of Galleons, holding them out to him.

Salt welled in Fleur’s eyes as she grabbed the man’s wrist with her other hand.

"We need safe passage!" Fleur begged. "To the City-States! Please...you can just...you can drop us off."

But, Gabrielle was frozen. Instead, she looked at the women that stood in the sea of the crowd. The women that everyone seemed to move around, parting like a sea. She couldn’t make out all of their faces but, there was one. She stood at the forefront, next to a woman whose face was hidden by the shadow of her crimson hood. The woman she could see stepped forward, her pale eyes narrow and concentrated.

Gabrielle knew what they called her. Baba Yaga.

 _Come home,_ Baba Yaga said even as she didn’t open her mouth. She held out her hand. _What do we say to the Stranger, Death? Come home and tell me the answer._

Gabrielle didn’t have to ask where.

“No. We need to go to Albion,” Gabrielle said, firmly, turning back to the man.

The captain’s face screwed into a bigger sneer.

“We won’t be taking two lasses—”

“What do we say to the Stranger, Death?” Gabrielle asked. The man froze, looking at Gabrielle as if he had never seen anything quite like her. Gabrielle stepped forward, her lips curling into a grimace. “I know what you are, sir.”

“You don’t know shit, lass,” the captain snarled.

“You are a werewolf,” Gabrielle barked. “And _I_ am Gabrielle Greyback, Alpha of Laug. You will take me home. You will take me to Albion. So, tell me, your Alpha, _what_ do we say to the Stranger, Death?”

She held out her hand and waited for the captain to slowly tilt his head in submission. Gabrielle grabbed him by the neck and squeezed once, waiting for her answer.

“Not today,” he rasped. “You shall have...a cabin.”

Gabrielle squeezed again before she grabbed Fleur’s hand and tugged her past the man, stomping up the stairs. The crewmembers startled as she dragged Fleur onto the deck of the boat. The captain staggered up the stairs after her, muttering quietly to the others trying to beg a ride on the boat. They fell back reluctantly and the captain turned back to address the crewmembers.

“Are they all like you?” Gabrielle asked.

The captain swallowed hard. “Yes. It’s hard for our _types_ to have gainful employment,” he said, his lips curling sourly.

Gabrielle nodded and threw off her hood. The crewmembers gasped as they took in the strange Veela one. Gabrielle wondered if some of the sharp edges of her body had softened now that the rage was somewhat quelled.

“We should go,” Gabrielle said, looking over her shoulder at the docks. The Republic officials were getting closer, quietly questioning the crowds.

“Yes, Alpha,” the captain murmured softly before he turned to his crew and began to shout orders. Slowly, the colors were hoisted and everyone began to work around them, pulling ropes and getting ready for the ship to be off. Gabrielle followed the captain towards the wheel, Fleur close behind. “Where do you want to go, Alpha?”

“Velothi, Essetir,” Gabrielle said firmly.

It was only a few moments and then they were off, the waves slowly crashing against the wooden ship as they drifted away from the port. Gabrielle looked at Fleur. Fleur was staring back at their homeland in wonder, swallowing as the farther they sailed away from the port, the faster the boat became. Gabrielle could feel the magic thrumming in the wood if she ran her fingers over the boat. It was wonderful.

It nearly made her smile.

“I’m not sorry that we’re leaving,” Fleur said, finally turning back to look at her younger sister. “But, why Albion? There’s a war.”

Gabrielle frowned. “Because...I have a feeling.”

And that was all she said before she walked towards the edge of the boat and closed her eyes, feeling the saltwater air sting her eyes. She felt _alive_.

She glanced back one more time.

The Laug Republic was disappearing. Her husband, her pack, her life was gone, shed off like ill-fitting clothing.

The young Veela hoisted herself up onto the edge of the ship.

“Lass!” shouted one crewmember but Gabrielle ignored him.

Gabrielle stood on the edge of the ship, perfectly balanced as she watched ahead, staring only at the open sea, the churning waves. The bright light of the day. She could feel Fleur’s eyes on her back so, Gabrielle walked along the edge, ignoring the stares of wonder. She walked with such certainty until she stood on the prow of the ship. Gabrielle opened up her arms and closed her eyes, letting it all rush at her.

A girl would not fall. Gabrielle Greyback would never fall.

 _Never_ again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said Thursday, but it was finished. And I thought that I could just upload the Interlude tomorrow and really have this entire arc wrapped up. This was definitely some of the most fun I've ever had writing a chapter. I had a whole music playlist that corresponded with each section and it was just great fun. I really hoped you enjoyed it and I would really appreciate your comments. This was a hard one to get out because so much was happening at the same time.
> 
> Anyway, until tomorrow!


	15. Interlude

It did not rain, like the day after that first battle. It was bright. The blue sky was clear of any rolling white clouds. The sun beat down harshly. The seas were calm, sloshing comfortably against the white cliffs of Westeron.

Harry prepared their pyre himself.

Their bodies were swathed in the shimmering fabric that Andromeda had given him, a solemn expression on her face. She had quietly taken him through the rites. She had asked if he needed help. He rejected it. Instead, he sat quietly, weaving nasturtium and cherry blossoms into McGonagall’s shroud. Edelweiss and hyacinth for Hagrid. The bright purple of morning glories showered atop their expressions to hide their still faces.

They all watched him as Harry methodically worked, honoring the dead, chanting soft words in the ancient language, mixed with the prayers. He didn’t cry. They had cried—when he had returned with their bodies close at hand. There had been a great wail through the entire camp for all of those lost ones—the ones that had been retrieved and the ones that couldn’t. Harry hadn’t been able to look at the new orphans. He hadn’t been able to look at the widows and widowers, the elderly that had outlived their children.

Harry didn’t cry.

“Why won’t he cry?” Tonks whispered, her brow furrowed in confusion. She wrapped her arms around her middle, keeping a careful eye on Harry and the girl, that _girl_ , Hermione, that stood close to Barty Crouch Jr. and Luna Lovegood. The girl that looked like Pandora.

Voldemort lifted his chin. “Albion doesn’t cry.”

Harry stood from his kneeling position and he took a step back, observing them. They would go in a shower of flowers and flames. There was no need for a true pyre.

“Your Grace, we can—” Bill began, stepping forward. Before Harry could shake his head, Ginny grabbed her oldest brother’s wrist and tugged him back. Ron buried his face in Charlie’s shoulder, trembling with suppressed sobs.

Harry cleared his throat.

“Shall I pray?” Harry called, his voice nearly a whisper. No one responded. Harry turned to look at them all, his bright eyes clear. “Who will pray with me?”

His voice was nearly a shout.

“I will pray, Wyrdfod.”

He turned towards the girl that had spoken. She stepped out from underneath Rodolphus Lestrange’s arm. Tonks stiffened when she looked at her, but the girl had no eyes for Tonks. She walked towards Harry, unafraid and unabashed.

“Good,” Harry said, roughly. “What is your name?”

“I am Luna Lovegood, Wyrdfod,” the girl said as she reached him and slowly she raised her hand to his chin and tilted his head one way. Harry moved with her, never breaking eye contact. “Shall we begin?”

“Aye,” Harry said, gruffly. He turned back to the two bodies and slowly lifted his wand, drawing it in a slow circle as he walked around the two. Quietly, he intoned, “Blessed by the Seven, may you be brought peace in your death.”

A flash of white erupted from his wand, a sacred bond. Luna walked in counterpoint to him, their paths crossing.

“Favoured by the Gods, may you have the everlasting rest in the bosom of Hbina, defending the seat of the Gods’ power. By the judgment of the Father, in one hand be wisdom. In the milk of the Mother, may you be granted everlasting life. In the blood of the Maiden, may your sacrifice be a sacred vow for the innocent,” Luna called and flashes of light erupted from her strange pale wand and she nodded over at Harry.

“By the strength of the Warrior, may you defend the seat of the duty given in life. By the hearth of the Smith, you shall be unmade as you were made. On this day, may the Stranger deliver your soul to your final resting place. In memory, you shall not be forsaken,” Harry breathed, trembling as the light shot out of his wand. He glanced over at Luna and she seemed to be staring at him. “Blood is Fate, blood is death. Blood is...blood _is…_ ”

“Only you may finish this, Wyrdfod,” Luna murmured.

Harry cleared his throat and nodded. “Blood is all. So mote it be.”

The white lights all seemed to converge on the two shrouded bodies and burst into white flames, licking it all away. Harry staggered backward, never looking away until his back hit a broad chest and two heavy hands settled on his shoulders. He didn't need to look up to know who it was.

“So mote it be,” Tom rumbled from behind her as the other repeated his words. Harry pulled away from Tom, his eyes blinded by unshed tears.

“You…” Harry rasped. “You _people_ take _everything_ from me.”

The dangerous snarl seemed to surprise Tom.

“What?” he murmured.

“You...your _family_ took _everything_ from me. You took _everything_ from me!” Harry roared, shoving Tom away from him and he staggered away, keeping his hand over his eyes. “You take everything and won’t give me _anything_ back!”

“Harry…” Tom whispered.

Harry threw his hand down and shook his head. “I can’t...I can’t _look_ at you. She looks just like you. And you...you will see their broken bodies, wrapped in _my_ banner, and they will be buried in shame. I condemn your blood. This I swear to you, Tom Marvolo Slytherin.”

Tom took a step back, lifting his chin, his eyes shuttering. Only Voldemort stared back at Harry, and Harry trembled.

“Do you want me to go?” Voldemort asked, his voice cold.

"No. You will not go anywhere. You have sworn yourself to me in perpetuity. I have given everything to you, for you. No, I don't want you to go. You are a _tragedy_ ,” Harry growled. “But, you are _my_ tragedy.”

“Harry,” Voldemort said.

Harry deflated suddenly and he looked up at Voldemort with a terribly sad, broken look on his face.

Softly, he said, “My love...it won’t ever be enough.”

He turned away, staggering away from the white fire, and the people that watched them. So many people. He expected Tom or Tonks to follow him to the cliff’s edge but, when he turned, he only saw the girl.

The little blonde woman.

Luna Lovegood.

“Who are you?” Harry groaned.

Luna’s lips quirked into a smile. “Luna Lovegood. I told you, Wyrdfod.”

“You call me Wyrdfod. You aren’t just a normal witch, are you?” Harry sighed and his only answer was Luna’s quiet little smile.

“You love him a great deal, Wyrdfod. He loves you too. More than he knows,” Luna said, quietly and Harry scoffed, shaking his head.

“What do you know of the Dark Lord’s feelings? Or lack thereof,” he snarled, angry. Luna didn’t seem to mind his seething.

“It matters not. You spoke of your intention to murder the Dark Lord’s family. You condemned him. You have started a war that is too large for its current board. This is of global attention, I suspect. Global consequences. You could concede now and spare many of your men or you could _possibly_ win a war. What would you choose?” Luna asked.

Harry regarded the woman for a long minute and he took a step closer, something familiar about her grey eyes as if he'd seen it in a dream.

“You are...are you a Seer, Luna Lovegood?” he asked.

Luna didn’t answer immediately. “No,” she said decidedly. “I just know holiness when I see it, Wyrdfod. Your rage will lead to a great many things. War—the bloodiest Albion will ever see. But, your submission will grant mercy to those that might not deserve it, and then all shall be lost.”

“The Slytherins,” Harry said. He didn’t need to be told. Luna looked at him hesitantly, and slowly nodded.

“So. Your choices are clear. Wyrdfod, tell me…what will you choose? Mercy or violence?” Luna murmured, softly.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. He looked around. He glanced at the burning pyre. The weeping Weasley family. His diminished troops. His broken family. His _pride._

Harry knew what he chose.

“I choose violence.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are. At the end of ARC TWO: Cinders. It was a long journey and we've finally arrived to the point where I wanted Harry to be at. Here he is, bold and full of rage. He is ready for a war, and the boy is dead.
> 
> Now, I probably won't update the next part for a while for a number of reasons:
> 
> 1\. I'd like to organize my outline so that I have the next few chapters at least half-written.
> 
> 2\. I have finals coming up so I just won't be able to give Fairest the time and attention it deserves.
> 
> 3\. I want to write a little more for my other fic that went up Diagnosis.
> 
> So, see you soon for ARC THREE: GRYMMR.
> 
> Hope you comment!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments! I'm eager to know if you all are still out there, reading!


End file.
